


The Madness of Ravens

by AutumnSouls, darienqmk



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Co-Written, Double Self-Insert, Gen, Humor, Saving the World, Self-Indulgent, Self-Insert, We're Both Idiots, Wish Fulfillment
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-20
Updated: 2021-03-01
Packaged: 2021-03-09 02:22:30
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 61,234
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27126473
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AutumnSouls/pseuds/AutumnSouls, https://archiveofourown.org/users/darienqmk/pseuds/darienqmk
Summary: The fuckery of Lyra Malfoy and James Stark, two idiots who can't agree on how their thrust into the wizarding world should be handled. Double SI. Co-written with darienqmk.“Of course you’d measure the value of a human being by their ability to get some fake approval points designed to turn children into obedient, unthinking citizens,” James said.Lyra frowned. “What else would I measure a person by?”“There are more important things,” said James. “Like their personal wealth, their talent at tax evasion, and their faith in God.”“What God in particular, James?”“Satan.”
Comments: 65
Kudos: 291
Collections: A Collection of Beloved Inserts





	1. Harry’s First Year, Part 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is a fun little wish-fulfillment thing that my friend (darienqmk) and I wrote as a bit of an escape from real life. While it’s mostly lighthearted and not to be taken seriously, there may be an actual plot, as hinted in the second half of this chapter. I dunno. Don’t expect a masterpiece.

Draco Malfoy stood in front of Harry and Ron, a snide expression on his face.

"You'll soon find out some wizarding families are much better than others, Potter. You don't want to go making friends with the wrong sort. I can help you there."

He held out his hand to shake Harry's, but Harry didn't take it.

"I think I can tell who the wrong sort are for myself, thanks," he said coolly.

Draco Malfoy didn't go red, but a pink tinge appeared in his pale cheeks.

"I'd be careful if I were you, Potter," he said slowly. "Unless you're a bit politer you'll go the same way as your parents. They didn't know what was good for them, either. You hang around with riff-raff like — _ow_!"

Harry hid a smile as Draco Malfoy was smacked upside the head so hard he let out a little whimper. Ron was not nearly so subtle and released a snort that earned him a glare from Draco before the blonde boy turned around to face whoever hit him.

Whoever it was, Draco was clearly familiar with them, as he immediately scowled.

"I'm telling father," he said, rubbing the back of his head.

"That you made fun of Harry's dead parents the first day of Hogwarts?" said the girl who had hit him. She had the same pale-blonde hair as Draco, but down past her shoulders, and her eyes were blue instead of grey.

One of the Dudley-like boys stepped up to her, but faltered in the presence of another student, dressed in the same blue-trimmed robes as the girl. His eyes were openly amused as he watched misfortune befall Draco.

"Careful, Crabbe," she said, "you know playing with fire is a bad idea."

The Ravenclaw boy glanced at the back of her head, eyebrows slightly raised. "I thought that was Goyle."

"Bugger off, Lyra," Draco hissed, ignoring her friend. "This is none of your business."

"Nonsense," said Lyra. "This is the son of James Potter, a great Chaser. I gotta make sure I don't have any competition as the Ravenclaw Seeker, don't I?"

Harry blinked in surprise.

"You know about my dad?" he said, cutting off Draco's next words.

"He's famous too, you know." Lyra grabbed Draco by the arm and pulled him roughly out of the compartment. His two goons followed him as he squawked in indignation. Then she shut the door in their faces, including the other Ravenclaw boy.

"Thanks," said the muffled voice from the other side.

Lyra ignored him. "So, Harry — Ronald," she added with a nod to the freckled boy. "I'm Lyra Malfoy."

"Hold on," said Ron. "Lyra — yeah, I've heard of you! Fred and George have talked about you sometimes." He couldn't quite hold back his grimace. "Didn't know you were a Malfoy, though."

Lyra gave a light shrug. "I didn't ask to be born. I'm quite displeased about it, actually."

Ron and Harry glanced at each other and decided to ignore that comment.

"I'm Harry Potter," Harry said, giving an awkward smile.

Lyra didn't answer. She just stood there, smiling as though she took pleasure in the silence and their struggle with it.

"So — Seeker?" Ron asked, an excited light in his eyes. "You've flown against my brothers, then."

"The twins, yeah." Lyra hummed, then scowled. "And Charlie. Ugh."

Ron nudged Harry with a proud grin on his face. "He was the best seeker Gryffindor's ever seen. And he could play as Chaser if they were injured, too."

Harry had no idea what the significance of that was, but Ron did seem proud of his brother and not wanting to take away from that, he put on a bland smile and nodded.

Lyra shook her head. "I could never beat him." She clapped her hands together then. "But he's gone now! That makes me the best Seeker in Hogwarts — ha!" Then she looked at Harry, her excitement fading. "Hey, Harry, if my brother challenges you to something with a broom, don't —"

The door was thrown open to reveal Hermione again, dragging the Ravenclaw boy from earlier, who appeared to be wishing to have been doing anything else. "Oh, how exciting! Ravenclaw is a really attractive choice, isn't it? Part of me's hoping to be sorted into Gryffindor. I read in _Hogwarts: A History_ that the Headmaster was sorted there —"

"That's really great," said the boy, with an air of desperation. "The Headmaster is a great man. Very wise, very kind. You should seriously consider going into Gryffindor."

"Nah, pick Ravenclaw," said Lyra.

If the Ravenclaw boy's looks could kill, Lyra would be dead thrice over.

"I'm just saying," she said, shrugging. "Gryffindor is full of loud idiots. Ravenclaw is bliss." She threw an arm around Hermione's shoulder. "The smell of books from the library in the common room itself, the quiet, the other studious students —"

"But Gryffindor is where the Headmaster comes from," the boy insisted. "And he could wipe the floor with the entire school. I heard rumors that the Gryffindors get private tutoring from him, which I believe, _considering how many points they seem to get from him_ ," he muttered the last part under his breath. "Did you know he studied under the immortal alchemist Nicholas Flamel? Imagine what you could learn under him."

Lyra threw her other arm out in bewilderment. "What are you doing, man? You know how many points this girl could get us?" She looked back at Hermione. "Don't listen to James."

"Of course you'd measure the value of a human being by their ability to get some fake approval points designed to turn children into obedient, unthinking citizens," James said.

Lyra frowned. "What else would I measure a person by?"

Hermione squirmed under the older girl's half-embrace, clearly no longer comfortable.

"Their capital, for one," James said. "Number of mansions. Number of yachts. Ability to dodge taxes."

Lyra laughed. "Nothing trumps that."

Hermione slipped away from Lyra's arm, looking just as baffled as Ron.

Lyra frowned. "Why am I here again?"

"Quidditch. James Potter," James said. "Something about the gladiatorial bloodsport, anyway."

"It _does_ seem rather barbaric, doesn't it?" said Hermione, looking as though she vastly preferred the Ravenclaw boy to the girl. She earned a near-murderous look from Ron due to her comment.

"Oh, just you wait until the part where Hogwarts employs an army of magically-contracted debt slaves," said James dismissively.

"Yep," said Lyra, nodding. "Actually, we in Ravenclaw started a little club about it, if you want to join Ravenclaw."

"No, you're confusing it," James said quickly. "I think this girl would be opposed to our practice of sacrificing House-Elves to the Sun God and throwing their body from the top of Ravenclaw Tower."

"That's what Fred and George do."

"Sounds like something they'd do," said Ron.

"Speaking of your brothers, did they tell you that you need to fight a troll to gain entrance into Hogwarts?" James asked. "I hope you practiced."

Ron paled. "What? Fred and George weren't lying?"

"What?" Hermione interjected, sounding incredulous. "That's ridiculous. I read in _Hogwarts: A History_ that —"

James cast a Silencing Charm on the girl and gently but firmly guided her out of the compartment as her lips opened and closed in outrage.

"When can I learn that?" said Ron with too much excitement.

"For your OWL year, I think." James paused. "Still, makes no difference if you die during the Sorting."

Harry at this point was feeling some mixture of utter bewilderment and creeping fear.

"You'll be fine, Harry," James said, noticing his expression. "You're the Chosen One. You'll get special consideration — it won't do if you die before your climactic final battle against the revived big bad."

"Christ, James," said Lyra.

"Ruin my fun, why don't you," James said, and looked Harry in the eyes. "You are not the Chosen One. There is no prophecy. The Dark Lord is dead. I'm just joking, you'll be just fine. Except the troll."

Harry gave an awkward smile, too polite to tell the Ravenclaw boy to _bugger off, please_.

"There'll be no troll," said Lyra firmly.

"Wait, so — Fred and George _were_ lying?" said Ron.

"There won't be one at the Sorting," said James, "but there might be one —"

" _No_." Lyra gave a somewhat fierce glare at him. "That'd be irresponsible."

"I think I'm going to head back," James said, glancing at Lyra briefly. "We'll reach Hogsmeade soon." With that, he left the compartment, dragging Lyra with him.

Ron and Harry looked at each other, and hoped not everyone was like the two of them.

* * *

"Do you think this mirror shows the future?" asked Ron, eyes shining with excitement in the dark.

"How can it? All my family are dead — let me have another look —"

Their whispered conversation was suddenly interrupted by the door's creaking, and they froze. In a moment of panic, Harry threw the cloak over the pair of them and they scrambled under the retired desks as footsteps - two pairs of them - made their way to the mirror.

"The Mirror of Erised," a familiar female voice said, in a satisfied tone. "Finally. You know, it wasn't here last week."

"God, it's ugly," a more masculine voice commented. "Well, it better be worth scouring the entire castle from top to bottom. You sure no one's around?"

"Dumbledore's in his office and Harry was in his dorm like ten minutes ago."

"Ten minutes ago —?"

"It's fine."

Harry had not heard these voices in some time, and it took him a moment to recall. The first was the girl that had confronted him on the train, Malfoy's sister if he remembered correctly, and the one Ron refused to talk about for some reason. The second was her friend, also in Ravenclaw. He had seen them around since then but the two had spent more time talking to Hermione than both he and Ron combined. And it seemed like Lyra Malfoy knew he had been visiting the Mirror.

"What do you see?" James asked. Harry and Ron's view was blocked by two pairs of legs standing in between them and the mirror. The desk they had taken refuge under creaked dangerously as they leaned on its edge. "Lyra?"

"God, she's so hot."

James snorted. "I think I can guess who you're talking about."

Lyra hummed in agreement. "I see her and me on a beach — some tropical place, huge mountains behind us, beautiful house, a dog — oh, fuck yeah, two dogs. I think I see a magical garden back there too. Yeah, and a hippogriff! Two of them, actually."

"Sounds cozy," James said warmly. "Maybe it's Hawaii."

"It's probably our own little island, full of magical creatures and plants and happy things."

"You got a magical hemp farm as well?"

"Probably," said Lyra, seriously. "God, I can't wait to try magical drugs. Can't believe I let you talk me out of it. _At least wait til your body's older_ ," she said in a mocking tone.

"You'll be interfering with your growth. You'll thank me when you _don't_ end up with anger issues and memory problems," James said, before softening his tone. "I hope you can find this island. I'd like to visit someday."

Lyra made a noise of noncommitment. "You can have the other side of the island. What about you? What do you see?"

James shifted. "Me? I see myself holding up a pair of heavy woolen socks." There was the sound of a hard smack against flesh. " _Ow_!"

"Heavy wool to absorb all the —"

This time it was Lyra who was smacked. Ron stifled his mouth with his hands, and Harry hoped he wasn't choking on anything.

"You have to promise not to judge."

"No." Lyra waited a beat. "All right, I promise."

"I'm successful," James said. "Looks like I've written some books, based on my own little adventures, and I'm quietly living off the money I got. I'm not lacking anything. It looks like a mountaintop cabin, with a fireplace near the center and a bed with lots of knitted quilts on it in the corner. There's someone sleeping underneath the covers, but I can't make out who."

"Could only be a hag."

"Thanks for ruining my immersion."

"Still can't believe we got this lucky," said Lyra softly. "I still miss my friends and family, but man, this place is great." Lyra stayed silent for a moment. Then she said, a bit quietly, "Think we could actually get all that one day?"

"One day," James said. "We have magic, after all."

"Yeah..." said Lyra, sounding unsure.

"What's bothering you?" The desk above them creaked again as James turned to face Lyra fully. "Please don't tell me you're brooding on that again." There was a beat of silence. " _Lyra_."

"It's fine," said Lyra, sounding a bit defensive. "I don't want to talk about it now."

"You're certainly thinking about it, at least," James said with a sigh.

"Well, no one can hear my thoughts, can they? Except, you know — you know who. Which is exactly why we should avoid him," said Lyra in the same tone Ron used when he said 'Checkmate,' light yet firm.

" _I don't want to talk about it now_ ," James mocked. "You always do this. I've repeatedly told you that I disagree with you. I've repeatedly listed out the reasons why. The only reason you don't want to talk about it is because you know I'm right."

" _No_ ," said Lyra, drawing the word out. "You just want to take the comfortable, easy route. We can save everyone while still getting what we want."

"Dumbledore would be able to solve almost everything with minimal risk," James said in a long-suffering tone. "Where's the guarantee that we'd succeed in his place? I'm not trying to deny you your ideal future, Lyra, but I'm sorry, I'm not going to potentially risk innocents for it."

Harry, who had until then simply been falling asleep underneath the surprisingly soft fabric of the invisibility cloak, jerked. He accidentally elbowed Ron in the ribs, which caused him to flinch as well. They held their breaths in silence, hoping their error went unheard.

Lyra took a deep breath and said carefully, "We don't need to risk innocents. We can play it smart, if you would _just_ _trust_ _me_. In one fell swoop, I took out three years of problems. No rat, no dementors, no resurrection, no bitch in pink." She accentuated each one with a hard tap on the table. "If we tell Dumbledore and he decides to read my mind, I might as well declare myself the Dark Lady in the Great Hall. After Grindelwald and Riddle, do you really think he'll give me the benefit of the doubt?"

Harry's surprise rapidly gave way to a mixture of anger and fear. Was Lyra being serious? And if she was — was she powerful enough, skilled enough, to find him even under this cloak? Beside him, Ron's eyes were wide and pale in terror.

"Then don't call yourself a Dark Lady," James said dryly.

"If I don't play it carefully, they'll call me that anyway," said Lyra seriously, "and I'll lose all support before I even get a chance to gain any. We're talking about changing the _world_ , James."

" _You're_ talking about changing the world," James said. " _I_ just want to have fun, go on adventures. My plans don't involve actively risking innocents."

"Okay," said Lyra shortly. "We tell Dumbledore, he gets himself killed, Voldemort rises anyway, and innocents die." She threw her arms out to the side in exasperation. "You've no idea what could happen. Yeah, you're right, it's risky and stupid and we're both kind of morons so it could all go horribly wrong, but we're not talking about risk for no reward — the reward _would_ _be_ saving countless innocents. Are you really going to claim the moral high ground while ignoring the good we could do, the innocent lives _we could save_?"

There was a long moment of silence.

Then Lyra sighed. "Look. Either we take the easy route, save some few hundred or thousand by telling Dumbledore, or we take the riskier route and possibly save millions. _Billions_ , maybe, if the reports on climate change are accurate. We force change," she said vehemently. "Stop pollution, end world hunger, prevent wars —"

"Lyra…" interrupted James. "We can do both, you know. We can let Dumbledore handle the immediate problems. We can do what you're proposing when we're older, more experienced."

"With Dumbledore watching my every move?" said Lyra with some small disbelief.

"I'll admit he's a little too okay in maintaining the status quo, but —"

"And by the time I can do anything if I wait, countless will have died in muggle wars and poverty, and don't even get me started on climate change. Just — _look_. Look into the Mirror. Do I have to remind you what you saw? How much further do you think this adventuring career of yours will go, if your first entanglement was with the legendary monster of Slytherin? Or to do with Nicolas Flamel's famous Stone?"

"You're manipulating me," James said quietly.

"Yeah," said Lyra shamelessly. "Are you happy in that Mirror? You could have that, you know. So could I. We could be _happy_. That would be our reward for making the _world_ happy." She took a deep breath again. "You want to use our knowledge to save innocents, right?"

James didn't say anything. Harry wished he could cast the Silencing Charm - his lungs felt strained as he struggled to keep quiet.

"The victims of war, poverty, and climate disaster are also innocents." Lyra made a noise of doubt at her own words. "Well, mostly."

"Fine," said James shortly. "I can see I'm not going to change your mind. But if the future is even slightly different from what you promised, I'm going behind your back to get Dumbledore's help." He then turned around and swiftly left the room, the door not quite closing behind him.

Lyra sighed and stood there for a long moment. Harry wasn't sure if she was looking into the Mirror. But eventually, she too left.

As soon as the door fell shut with a soft click, Harry and Ron gasped. Their conversation had been long, but also highly enlightening. Lyra's plan for the future was too much to process right now, but he hadn't missed the use of Nicolas Flamel's name. She seemed to know who he was.

"Bloody hell," Ron muttered. "Would it have killed them to finish quicker?"

Harry could only hum in response, thinking of something else. Lyra had referred to herself as a Dark Lady, and was avoiding Dumbledore. That alone was something that should prove her untrustworthiness in his eyes, and yet, her talk about innocents was not something that an evil witch would have really cared about. Her main goal seemed to be _saving_ innocent lives, but perhaps in a manner that Dumbledore would disagree with; certainly in a way James disagreed with.

"Should we tell someone about it?" Harry asked.

"I think we should," Ron said seriously, though the mood was soon broken by a massive yawn. "Time for bed, though, I think."

"Let's go back," Harry agreed, and still hidden under the Cloak, the two of them made their way back to Gryffindor tower.


	2. Harry's First Year, Part 2

Albus sensed them long before he heard or saw them but he pretended he didn't notice. Plenty of students snuck out after curfew; he wouldn't begrudge them a moment of misadventure. But then they stepped out in front of him, all five of them, staring him down like gunmen in a western movie.

"Good evening," he said, smiling. "How may I help you five?"

"We challenge you to a duel, Headmaster Dumbledore," James Stark said gravely.

"Oh?" said Albus. It seemed they weren't hiding from him at all. "Shall we step outside to the snow again? I did enjoy our last magical snow battle, I admit."

"No snow," said Lyra Malfoy seriously, taking out her wand. "It's nothing personal, Headmaster — just business."

Albus nodded and hummed, feeling quite amused. Lyra Malfoy was one of the more entertaining students in Hogwarts these days, up there with Fred and George Weasley. She was quite the breath of fresh air when it came to Malfoys. He still wondered how she came about with a father like Lucius.

"And I suppose I cannot convince you to simply let me pass?" he said eventually.

"There's no walking out of this, Headmaster," James said flatly. "If you don't knock us down several dozen pegs, we'll get cocky in our youthful exuberance and personally challenge Voldemort to a duel. And you wouldn't want dead kids on your conscience, would you?" Albus raised a single eyebrow and James coughed awkwardly. "No offense, Professor."

"None taken," Albus said, stroking his beard.

"But we would like you not to hold back, if possible," Cedric said. "James said that we should understand just how powerful V- _Voldemort_ was, back in his prime, so that we understand the danger if he ever comes back."

"That's their reasoning," said Lyra, her chin high. "Personally, I need to know what it takes to defeat you when I eventually try to take over the world as the Dark Lady Lyra."

Lyra Malfoy was either very good at acting or there was some grain of truth in her words, some small seed of desire in some form of control that was planted there by her parents. He considered Legilimency for a brief second, but knew it would be far too invasive for just a hunch.

"We're so buggered, aren't we," Fred Weasley muttered.

"We're here to learn just how buggered we are," George Weasley muttered back.

"Very well, children," Albus said, drawing the Elder Wand. "If you'd draw your wands."

As one, the students went to grab their wands, only to find none. Even Lyra seemed unable to find the wand in her own hand.

"What the —?" said Cedric, checking all of his pockets. He patted over right where his wand lay, but the Confundus Charm he had set over them all did its work and none of their minds registered their own wands.

Albus waited a heartbeat, and then he casually flicked his wand in their direction. The students suddenly found themselves immobilized, everything frozen save their eyes. James and Lyra, he was pleased to see, were in the process of diving to the side, in a vain attempt to get away from his line of attack. But they would need to be miles away to be safe from him — and even then, only for a moment.

"Now —"

Albus was mildly surprised by the weak banishing charm sent at his feet, though he didn't even need his wand to dissipate the magic. He turned to James Stark, whose fingers were flexing at a glacial pace, so slow one could barely even tell they were moving.

"Ah, wandless magic," Albus said. "The youth never fail to impress, do they?"

Nobody replied; not that they could. He supposed he shouldn't be surprised. The best students of their year were the members of this very group. Though they were all below average in homework, with the exception of Cedric, they were all exceptional in both theoretical understanding and practical displays of magic — particularly James and Lyra. The two vaguely reminded him of James Potter and Sirius Black; frighteningly talented but holding little regard for schoolwork or rules.

But not so talented as to be a challenge to him.

"Three seconds," he said finally. "Three seconds is all it would take for Voldemort to kill all of you."

Various expressions of fear, nervousness, and surprise greeted him.

"Grown witches and wizards have lasted scant moments against him," Albus said solemnly. "Shopkeep or Auror, it did not make a difference. I would advise all of you against challenging him."

They all stumbled as they were released from Albus's body-bind. They found that their wands had inexplicably been returned to their pockets. Lyra blinked down at hers in her hand. They glanced at each other, then at Albus. Despite himself, he was pleased to see some newfound respect in their expressions. Though, again, Lyra Malfoy seemed more uneasy and wary.

As far as most of the school knew, Albus was an old, barmy figure — he would know, as he had cultivated that image himself. To see these five students, all of them bright and gifted, look up to him was something he would not get tired of.

"Would you…" James Stark began, though he did not finish his sentence, considering whether or not to say the next words in his mind. The Weasley twins and Cedric glanced at him, in an expression that indicated that they were wondering if James was thinking the same thing.

"Help is always available at Hogwarts," Albus said, "to those who ask for it."

James Stark sucked in a breath and pulled on an air of confidence. "Will you teach us how to fight?"

Albus considered this request, even as Cedric, Fred, and George stepped up beside him, evidently interested in the same thing. It was a strange thing to realize that no other students had asked of something like this before. Most did not approach him for his supposed power and prestige, despite his intentional appearances to the contrary; some did not approach, correctly assuming that Albus was incredibly busy, and not wishing to burden their Headmaster.

"I understand you're busy," James said. "So I won't ask for much. Tell us what to do, so that we might last a little longer against you in a year's time."

"Unlimited Restricted Section passes?" Fred said with an attempt at a winning smile.

"No detentions?" George said hopefully. "So that we can, uh, spend more time bettering ourselves."

"Why not ask for enchanted goblin-forged swords while we're at it," Cedric said.

"Enchanted goblin-forged swords, while we're at it," James said, shrugging. Cedric palmed his face, then glanced at Lyra, who had yet to contribute to this line of thought.

"You're pretty good at dueling — among us, anyway," Cedric said to her. "How did you learn? Whatever learning method you used, can we do that in Hogwarts?"

Lyra shrugged. "Mum taught me."

"Our mum never taught us to duel," Fred grumbled.

"Probably because she keeps winning that way," George said.

They glanced at Cedric, who started at their attention.

"Ah, my dad let's me mess about with him sometimes." He shrugged. "Not that obsessively, though. He's busy most of the time."

"Headmaster," James said, interrupting the conversation. "I know there are some names that float around, respected and even a little feared by most. Bartemius Crouch. Bellatrix Lestrange. Alastor Moody. And, of course, Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore." Albus inclined his head; Lyra rolled her eyes; James ignored her. "We might never reach your level. But if that's the case, it won't be because of a lack of effort on our part."

"I'm afraid I am indeed quite busy, as you say," Albus said thoughtfully. "But I can give you a tip. Do not seek to learn the hundreds of combat spells there are. Instead, master ten."

With this, Albus retreated from their sight, though not before sticking an eavesdropping charm on the hem of Cedric's robes. He was quite interested to hear what they might come up with in response to his words.

"Useless," said Lyra as soon as he turned the corner. "I've already done that."

"I don't know if it's useless," James said. "I think it was Bruce Lee who said not to fear the man who practiced ten thousand kicks once, but the man who practiced one kick ten thousand times."

Cedric sighed. "It's a bit unfair, coming from the Headmaster. He's advanced far enough that the entire field of Transfiguration might as well be a single spell for him, while we have to learn separate incantations and motions for different spells."

"Speak for yourself," said Lyra.

"What spells have you mastered, Lyra?" said Fred, asking Albus's own question too. "Not stuff like _Reparo_ , but duelling spells."

"Truly mastered?" said Lyra. "Well, none, really. I'm still improving on my best, but my best would be... Shield Charm, Banishing Charm, Summoning Charm, the Stunner, and the Cheering Charm, which I cast on myself liberally."

"I — is that why you're always so happy?" said George in wonder.

"I'm still working on some others to get them up there," said Lyra, ignoring him. "The Disillusionment Charm and Patronus Charm are both still giving me trouble."

Cedric whistled. "That's N.E.W.T. stuff right there."

"You'd be right there with me if you began studying magic at the age of four," said Lyra. "Still, I can't seem to really master any decent spells... And I mean mastering them so their use becomes very versatile, you know? Like, my Patronus is corporeal but I can't seem to get it to send messages like I want."

"Huh," said Albus out loud. Curious that she was already experimenting with magic already to craft unconventional uses for spells; and it was greatly interesting that she wished to use the Patronus Charm in a way he already knew to. She and James would surely become some of the best students Hogwarts has seen. Perhaps not like him, or Tom Riddle, but certainly great.

"And my Disillusionment Charm only works well enough when I'm still," Lyra continued. "James can't get it either. And Legilimency is just a _bitch_. So is the Confundus Charm. The human mind doesn't make any damn sense."

"Quite impressive," said Albus to himself as he finally made it to his office's entrance.

"You two don't do things simple, do you?" said Fred, presumably to both Lyra and James. "Any other amazing magic you want to master?"

"Obliviation," said Lyra. "And every other mind magic."

"Animagus," said James. "Or flight without a broom. Fuck brooms."

"Fidelius Charm," said Lyra.

"Bunch of healing spells," said James. "And —"

"All right," laughed Cedric, "we get it."

"Killing Curse," said James. He paused. "And Fiendfyre."

Albus heard the distinct sound of one's palm meeting their forehead, and chuckled, before cancelling the eavesdropping charm. He hummed under his breath on his way back to the office. Bright and gifted, indeed. He'd have to keep an eye on them.

* * *

"She said so herself," Harry insisted. "She wants to be a Dark Lady."

Hermione had managed to restrain a sigh the three times before, but this time she indulged herself with a deep, slow exhale. _Boys_.

"You must have just misheard, Harry," Hermione said. "You said yourself that you were falling asleep then." She also paused. "You realize that Lyra jokes about becoming a Dark Lady all the time, right?"

"Maybe she's not joking," Harry said seriously, and Hermione placed her face in her hands. "Maybe she pretends to joke about it to, you know, get everybody off guard."

"First Professor Snape, now a third year?" said Hermione, exasperated. "Really, Harry?"

"Snape _is_ up to something!"

"I hope she's not dark," Ron said. "She was the only good Malfoy I knew."

"I didn't know you knew her well," Hermione said, looking at him curiously. "I haven't really seen you sit in with our study sessions or anything."

Ron mumbled something under his breath, turning red. Hermione rolled her eyes, having no idea what the words were nor what his reaction was supposed to mean.

"Anyway," she said, snapping her book shut, "I'm going to the library. Where I'll be meeting 'Dark Lady Lyra' herself." Hermione made air-quotes around the title with her fingers. "You're welcome to come along if you want, you know. They're very helpful."

"I'll come," Ron said abruptly, standing up quickly enough to bump his knees against the table. He winced.

Harry looked at his mate as if he had lost his mind. "You're going to go straight to them?"

"I'm pleased to see you're interested in studying for once, Ron," said Hermione, and Ron turned slightly redder. "And that you're not swayed by these conspiracy theories."

"Not a conspiracy..." said Harry, but his words went unheeded. He stood up. "Fine, I'll come with. You'll both need someone to protect you if something goes wrong."

Hermione felt like sighing again. So she did. Loudly.

"Ron," she said, "you forgot your books."

"Oh, right," Ron said, and rushed to his dorm room to grab his books. Harry glared at Hermione the whole time while they waited.

"I can't believe Ron's on your side," he said to himself. Hermione ignored him.

"Welcome back, Ron," Hermione said dryly as Ron stumbled down the stairs with a teetering pile of books and parchment in his arms. "Are we ready to go?"

"Um, yeah," Ron said. "Where are we going again?"

"The library, Ron, do keep up."

The journey was perilous. At one point, Harry accidentally bumped into Ron on the Great Staircase, sending his books toppling three floors and almost landing on a poor Ravenclaw's head. Something that would have undoubtedly sent the student to the Hospital Wing if they had not heard the trio's shouted warnings at the last second.

Hermione stepped into the library, relishing the scent of centuries-old parchment, preserved through magic. It was, to this day, her favorite section of Hogwarts. It boasted the biggest archive of magical knowledge both modern and ancient; its ceiling was only barely lower than that of the Great Hall, and bookshelves were piled high atop each other, stretching to the dark ceiling decorated with twinkling stars. The artificial life breathed into these books formed a microcosm of paper and ink, as enchanted books flapped around the higher shelves like birds, diving down to students that called for them.

It was so large, in fact, that Hermione could sometimes call out to Lyra without fear of being accosted by that foul woman Pince. She found the two Ravenclaws (and a Hufflepuff) in one of the seventeen corners of the library. Lyra had her feet kicked up on the window ledge, her chair leaning back. Hermione had to hold back a comment.

"Hermione," James said, taking out his wand to Summon extra chairs. "I see you've brought guests."

Lyra, James, and Cedric sat around a table with a neatly stacked pile of books in the center. Cedric greeted Hermione distractedly before going back to staring at his latest report while tapping his quill against his jaw. James appeared to be doodling on his potions essay. Lyra was using her wand to float balls of some sort of slime high into the air and over rows of books, only to let it go above other unseen students.

"Who keeps throwing slime?!" shouted a student from twenty feet away.

" _No shouting in the library!_ " Pince screeched from the other side of the library.

Hermione sat down between Lyra and Cedric. She found it a little strange that Ron insisted on sitting between Hermione and Lyra, even moving a chair to do so. Ron dropped his pile on the table with an impressive bang, prompting a few raised eyebrows from the rest of the table. Harry eventually sat down beside Cedric, opposite the table from the two Ravenclaws, and stared at them with barely concealed suspicion.

"So, how does this work?" Ron asked Hermione.

"It's mostly self-study." Hermione shrugged. "But Lyra, James, and Cedric are willing to proofread essays and clarify points we don't understand."

Lyra scowled, seeming to vehemently disagree, but Hermione knew she'd do it if asked kindly.

And thus the table descended into companionable silence. Hermione flipped through the pages of her Transfiguration textbook, taking notes of important points in preparation for the essay that her class would be assigned tomorrow in the morning. Ron seemed a bit lost on where to start, considering how much material he'd brought.

"Fuck this," James muttered, putting his Potions essay aside. As Hermione had discovered, James had been honing his artistic talent with three years' worth of Potions essays and History of Magic reports. This essay had a rather horrifying tentacled eldritch planet being bombarded by Star Destroyers.

"Does this look good?" Cedric asked, putting down his quill and holding up his essay on Cheering Charms. James leaned over and skimmed over the words, pointing out errors as he went.

"Draw a dancing pineapple on the corner and Flitwick will give you bonus marks," James said.

"Thanks," Cedric said, moving to correct his mistakes. "Though I don't know why you spend more time helping me than doing your own homework..."

James shrugged and Cedric snorted.

"So, Lyra," Ron spoke up. "What's your favorite subject?"

Hermione's eyebrows slowly ascended her forehead as Ron's voice cracked and his face turned beet red. Lyra Malfoy slowly turned to face Ron.

"The Dark Arts," she said seriously.

Ron gave a weak smile. "Defense Against the Dark Arts —?"

" _No_ ," said Lyra. "The Dark Arts."

Hermione felt Harry's stare without seeing it.

"Oh," said Ron. "Uh, that's — nice?"

"She also likes to torture puppies and kittens in her spare time," James said helpfully.

Lyra's face twisted. "I would _never_ ," she said. "I'd only ever torture people — particularly redheads."

James smirked at Ron. "What I wouldn't give to be in your boots right now."

Ron and Harry both looked entirely clueless and horrified.

Hermione was fairly certain that was an innuendo, but she didn't know enough about _adult activities_ to tell.

"Uh, Ron," said Harry quickly. "I forgot I had… Quidditch practice. And you promised to come watch, remember?"

"Right!" In his enthusiasm to get away from the Dark Lady Lyra, Ron stood up and knocked over his pile of books. He hastily gathered his material and followed Harry out of the library at a power walk. Both of them carried the distinct air of people who didn't want to appear in a hurry.

"He doesn't have Quidditch practice today," Hermione said.

"What's wrong with them?" Cedric asked.

"Harry and Ron apparently heard Lyra talk about becoming a Dark Lady in a room where that Mirror of Erised was."

James frowned and Lyra blinked hard. She seemed to have trouble with speaking for a moment, but then she let out a small laugh.

"Yeah," she said, amused, and looked at Hermione. "Did they think I didn't know they were under that Invisibility Cloak?"

"You _knew_?" said Hermione, torn between amusement and disapproval.

"Hermione, I declared myself a Dark Lady to Dumbledore yesterday," said Lyra with a quick roll of her eyes.

" _Professor_ Dumbledore —"

Lyra waved a hand. "They're free to take it to _Professor_ Dumbledore if they want. Tell them I said that. The Headmaster ought to know a thirteen-year-old witch is planning on usurping him."

Hermione giggled.

"I imagine that's exactly what they're going to do right now," James said, leaning back in his chair. "I wonder how he'll respond."

* * *

"Professor Dumbledore!" Harry shouted, and the Headmaster stopped walking to wait for the students to catch up. "Lyra Malfoy… We overheard her — she called herself a Dark Lady — she was talking about taking over the world and a bunch of other stuff —"

"Is that so?" Dumbledore's eyes twinkled. "Let me deal with her then, young man."

"Thank you, Professor," Harry said gratefully. "Nobody else believed us… thank you."

"Not a problem, Harry." Then Dumbledore looked up. "Strange. Someone graffitied 'Gullible' on the ceiling."

"What?" Harry and Ron both looked up. They stared at the pristine ceiling in confusion as Dumbledore walked away, humming to himself.

* * *

"So," James said idly. "Who wants to have a paper airplane race?" A flick of his wand transfigured his Charms homework into an intricately detailed model aircraft. Another twirl of his wand had it float into the air.

"The homework was on Cheering Charms," Cedric said, even as James began to cast an impressive repertoire of charms to enchant his plane.

"Flitwick doesn't care about my homework," James said. "That's why he's my favorite teacher. And he loves seeing me show off. Besides, didn't I tell you he gave me full marks for the rest of the year after our snowman war?"

"Only a dozen times," Cedric said, while Hermione leaned forward and asked, "How did you do that?"

"Oh no," Cedric sighed, shaking his head.

James launched into an explanation on how he had been animating snowmen, when Professor Flitwick approached him and consistently began one-upping him, at which point James animated a giant snow kraken and smashed Professor Flitwick's snow pegasus, descending into a large-scale war between the two that eventually dragged the delighted Headmaster and surprisingly competitive Deputy Headmistress into it as well.

Hermione was once again reminded, _James was scarily talented_.

It was the same with Lyra as well. Their casual feats of magic routinely involved spells that older students struggled with, often silent. Certainly, they weren't the most knowledgeable or talented students in the school, but by the time they reached their N.E.W.T. year, they would be. Or perhaps even by their O.W.L. year.

"And that is how you get full marks for the rest of the year," James finished. "I'm assuming that's the part you were most interested in, anyway."

Hermione blushed a little. "I'm not _that_ bad."

"Not all the time," said James. "But when you _do_ get into these moods? It feels like there's nothing we can do to stop you."

"It's not a bad thing to be studious, Hermione," Cedric said with a smile. "But it's also okay to do things just because you want to, not because of the marks you get. The O.W.L.s are what matters, and those are still years away."

"I _am_ doing things I enjoy," Hermione said. "I like to read… about magical theory…"

"That just sounds like coursework with extra steps," said James, and Lyra smacked him.

"Don't listen to him," she said. "Do whatever makes you happy. But, yeah, sometimes I see you stressing yourself out."

"But you and James study ahead," said Hermione.

"We still do other things," Lyra said with a shrug. "And honestly, I get sick of it myself. I've been studying ahead since I was a toddler. It's why I'm so good."

"Play an instrument or something," said James. "Join our morning workouts. Dueling is fun too, or maybe that's just me since I get to routinely humble Lyra."

Lyra frowned. "Did I give you one too many concussions?"

"Or you could play Quidditch with us," Cedric said with a grin, and Hermione felt nauseated by the mere mention of the sport.

"Thank you, but no," Hermione told Cedric. She turned to the others. "It's okay, really. I enjoy studying, and learning about magic. It's just so _fascinating_."

"We know," James said. "We'd also prefer if you didn't work yourself into a heart attack at twenty-two."

Hermione made to reply about just how ridiculous that sounded, but paused. She knew the heart attack part was a joke, but it was stirring up a strange mixture of emotions. Was this… an intervention? Was Hermione Granger, the best student of her year, being _intervened for_? She gulped.

A hand planted itself on Hermione's shoulder.

"Relax," said James, looking as though he was holding back a grimace.

Hermione couldn't stop her mind from wondering why that was, or why Lyra was almost glaring at the side of James's head. Were the two finding her annoying? Were they too kind to say snide things to her face, like many other students did?

Harry and Ron had been that way. Parvati and Lavender were still that way; Faye and her friend Sophie remained dismissive of her; any prefect who wasn't Percy didn't seem to share her concerns or were too busy to deal with her problems.

It was always the same, wasn't it? This _suggestion_ of theirs — it was just a way to stop Hermione from bothering them so often. They didn't want her around as often as they did. And Hermione, in her foolishness, had forgotten that; she had dared, for a moment, to forget that these people were merely _tolerating_ her, rather than welcoming her.

" _Stop_."

The single word cut through the myriad of thoughts that ran through Hermione's mind, and she wasn't sure if it was said out loud or actually in her head. She looked back up, blinking the emerging tears away to see that Lyra Malfoy was leaning forward on the table, her stare directed at her now, looking somehow both concerned and unimpressed. Hermione noticed her tucking her wand away.

"Hermione," said Lyra, kindly but also a bit impatient. "Do I look like a woman who's going to waste her time hanging out with someone she doesn't like out of the kindness of her heart?"

It felt like Lyra was politely attempting to ask, _are you stupid?_

"I — no?" said Hermione uncertainly. How had Lyra known exactly what she was thinking?

"No indeed," said Lyra. "So what makes you so special?"

"God, you're so bad at this," James muttered, rubbing his forehead. Hermione stayed silent, unsure of where this was going.

"That goes two ways," said Lyra, ignoring him as she held up two fingers. "One, why would you be an exception to this? Why would I let you hang around if I don't like you? _Two_ : since I do let you hang around — clearly, there _is_ something special about you."

"Hermione," James said, slowly, consciously choosing his words as he went. "I'm wondering if there's something about your past that makes you uncomfortable with people your own age. I'm not going to downplay the negative experiences you've had, but not everything is as you think. You're a good kid, and you deserve what good there is in this world. Don't let anyone else tell you otherwise."

"Yeah, sure, whatever he said," said Lyra. Had it been anyone else, Hermione would've been put down by the indifference in her tone, but Lyra was just mean like that. "You're smart, your heart is in the right place, and you're a good friend — all great reasons for why I must radicalize you. And," she continued as if this was a normal comment to make, "you're much more mature than the average eleven year old. So mature, in fact, that I wouldn't be surprised if you were actually a time traveler stuck inside the body of a child. Like me and James."

Cedric rolled his eyes. "You two aren't time travellers."

"Cedric, if you don't shut up, I'm going to let you die again," said Lyra, sounding a little too serious.

"Dysentery is a poor way to go, Cedric," James said. He turned back to Hermione. "But seriously. We care about you. We promise." He drew his wand. "I swear this on my magic. So mote it be!"

Lyra punched him in the face.


	3. Harry's First Year, Part 3

Harry, Ron, and Hermione were gathered around Hagrid's table, trying once again to convince him to get rid of the dragon egg. But Hagrid seemed intent on dismissing their claims. Hermione was just about to launch into another tirade about the lunacy of keeping a dragon in a wooden hut when someone knocked on the door.

"Oh, tha' migh' be Dumbledore," said Hagrid, pushing past Hermione as though she was a ghost.

He opened the door to reveal, indeed, it was Albus Dumbledore. His eyes swept the room, crinkling with pleasure as they spotted the trio.

"Ah, it seems you have a few guests already," he said. "Good day, you three."

"Sorry, yeh three," Hagrid said. "But me an' the Professor need ter talk abou' some things."

Hermione turned to Dumbledore, ignoring him. "Professor, will you tell Hagrid not to keep a dragon egg — in his _wooden_ home?"

What was visible of Hagrid's cheeks turned bright pink as Dumbledore raised an eyebrow.

"I shall see what I can do," he said, no small amount of amusement in his voice. "But yes, Hagrid and I do indeed have things to talk about — important matters."

"Yeh, there's been killin's in the fores' lately..."

" _Hagrid_."

"Ah, righ' — sorry, Professor," said Hagrid, turning even pinker.

"Killings?" said Harry.

"Nothing to worry about," said Dumbledore, smiling. "But we shall be off for some time now, so best get back to the castle. I do apologize about interrupting your evening."

"It's quite all right, Professor," Hermione said, seeming satisfied. "Come on, you two."

The change from Hagrid's sweltering home was a massive change from the slightly chilly early-spring evening that they stepped out into. Harry shivered for a moment as they made their way back to the castle proper. Halfway up, Harry decided to speak his mind.

"What do you think that was about?" he said. "The killings."

"Who knows," said Ron. "But it's the Forbidden Forest. Probably lots of killings in there."

Hermione made to interject, but then they heard someone from above come barrelling down toward them. Before Harry could fully register who it was, they slammed into him, sending them flying into the ground.

" _Ow_ ," whimpered Lyra Malfoy.

Harry grunted, picking himself off the ground. The collision had been hard, and he turned, finding Lyra also pulling herself to her feet. Whatever annoyance he had melted at her appearance. She had dark spots under her eyes, and her hair was a mess. And not the usual, deliberate mess she often kept it in, but in complete disarray.

"Sorry," she said distractedly, and made to leave without some cutting parting remark.

"Wait!" Hermione said, clutching her arm. "What's wrong?"

Lyra's eyes darted between the three of them, and then she glanced around, as if checking for eavesdroppers. "Have you seen James?" she asked. "This — it's important."

"No, but maybe we can help, whatever it is," Hermione said. "What's going on?"

Lyra hesitated, her hand brushing against one of her pockets seemingly subconsciously.

"I just — I need to speak to Professor Dumbledore," she said. "Professor McGonagall said he was heading this way."

"He's not there anymore," said Hermione.

"Yeah, he just went into the Forbidden Forest with Hagrid," said Ron. "Those two always were a bit barmy."

This seemed to be terrible news. Lyra's eyes and mouth opened in horror, and Harry was sure she would've paled if her face wasn't red from exertion.

"He's in the Forest?" she breathed. " _Fuck_."

Hermione's cheek twitched but she ignored the language. "Lyra, _what happened_?"

"He's going after the Stone!" said Lyra, grabbing fistfuls of her hair. "God _damn it_ , I should've known —" She trailed off, muttering to herself, looking wildly around as if Dumbledore would drop down from the sky.

Harry felt like he was being doused with cold water. Hermione's eyes widened and she let go of Lyra in her surprise.

"You know about the Stone?" Hermione whispered.

Lyra rubbed her face with her hands. "How do you two even know about it?" she said, more to herself than them. "James — damn him, the moment I need him he disappears."

"We'll help," Ron said suddenly, and Lyra's gaze snapped onto him. He squirmed a little, but didn't back down. "We have to. Otherwise… it means You-Know-Who gets the Stone, right? We need to stop Snape."

She stared at him for a long moment, her features unreadable.

Though he never wanted to ally with Lyra Malfoy... Harry found himself agreeing with Ron's sentiment. And a witch of Lyra's caliber would surely be helpful if they ever had to fight Snape. Another shot of cold ran down his spine at the thought. Snape had never liked any of his students — and he especially didn't like Harry. If Snape got the Stone and had nothing left to lose… what would he do to Harry?

"You're eleven," said Lyra finally.

"And you're thirteen," said Hermione.

"Fourteen," said Lyra, sighing and running a palm down her face again. "And it's not Snape. It's Quirrell."

"What?" said Harry, speaking up for the first time. "No, it's _Snape_. He cursed my broom!"

Lyra shook her head hard enough that her hair flew about. "No, Quirrell cursed your broom." And she pushed past them, walking swiftly back to the castle. They ran after her.

"But I saw him muttering something under his breath!" said Hermione, panting as she was forced to run slightly to keep up with Lyra's longer strides.

"A counter-curse," said Lyra with a dismissive wave of her hand.

"I set him on fire and it stopped!"

"And who was right behind Snape, Hermione?" said Lyra. "Look, I _heard_ him. I heard Quirrell muttering to himself about going after the Stone. I heard him muttering about his _master_ , the Dark Lord. _No_!" she snapped when all three of them opened their mouths to protest. "I didn't mishear. It's him. I'm not arguing about it. He cursed your broom. He let in that troll. _It's him_. God, I can't believe I didn't see it before."

The three slowed down, struggling to process this. Lyra seemed to notice and turned around, throwing her hands out in question.

" _Well?_ "

There was a moment of silence where Harry, Ron, and Hermione traded looks. Then Hermione looked at Lyra.

"We'll come," she said in a small voice. "We'll help."

Lyra stared at them, then gave a curt nod. "Keep up, then. I won't be coming back for you if you get lost."

"What about a teacher?" said Hermione, rushing up to meet Lyra's pace again.

"Already told three," said Lyra, sounding annoyed. "None took me seriously. After all," she said mockingly, "how could poor, stuttering Quirrell be evil?"

Lyra occasionally checked some sort of map as she walked; while she seemed to be taking random turns, Harry realized they were getting closer and closer to the forbidden corridor on the third floor. It was during one of these turns that she almost walked into James Stark.

"Lyra?" James said, and he blinked as Lyra grabbed him by the wrist and began dragging him along. "What's this?"

"He's making his move," Lyra hissed. " _Quirrell_."

"Really?" James made a rare show of alarm. " _Now_?"

"Soon," she said. "In an hour or two, it sounded like. But we should get to it before him."

"I — are you sure? What about Dumbledore? Why are we taking these three?"

"They found me and I couldn't find you," said Lyra irritably. "They already knew about the Stone as well. And Dumbledore's gone into the woods for some unfathomable reason. None of the other teachers took me seriously."

James glanced at Harry, his face smoothed over once more. Harry looked away after a moment, shielding his own eyes from James' cold gaze. James turned back to Lyra.

"Still should've told them no," he said. "It won't be all sunshine and rainbows."

"Are you going to be helpful at all, James?" Lyra said, frustrated, and James went silent. "They're not completely worthless."

They arrived in front of the forbidden corridor. The door was closed, but Lyra pushed it, and it opened without needing to be unlocked. Harry felt a ball of lead forming in his stomach. Did this mean someone had already gone through? Were they too late?

Fluffy raised one of its three heads sleepily, staring at the intruders. Lyra produced a tiny harp and tossed it towards Fluffy.

" _Finite Incantatem_ ," she said with a flick of two fingers, and the tiny harp returned to its ordinary size, clanging loudly against the stone floor. The other two heads woke to the sound it made, and Lyra cast a second spell with her wand that made the harp begin playing.

Harry blinked in surprise as Fluffy's eyelids began to droop once more. It shuffled its front legs and laid its heads on top of them. The trapdoor was exposed. Lyra slowly made her way to the other end of the corridor, wary of the guard dog waking up again. When she placed her hand on the trapdoor, Fluffy still didn't wake. The harp continued to play on its own, and Lyra yanked it open.

"Hagrid said music soothes the little hellhound to sleep," said Lyra idly, looking into the hole, "but it's not all music."

"Yeah, we tested some Muggle music before," said James. "You should see what Fluffy does when you play Finnish death metal."

"And N.W.A.," said Lyra.

"What's N.W.A.?" said Ron.

Lyra opened her mouth but James elbowed her in the ribs.

"Don't say it," he said. "You're not allowed to say it."

"It means —" began Lyra, but James put his hand on her back and shoved her into the hole. She had only a split-second to yelp before she hit her head on the stone edge of the trap door and fell down silently. Hermione gasped. There was a thud below before an echoing screech reached them.

" _James_!" screamed Lyra. " _I'm going to kill you! You cocksucking son of a —"_

But then James leapt in, and there was another thud, cutting Lyra off, being likely landed on by him. Hermione made another noise of horror.

"Don't worry," said Ron. "Witches are tough." And he jumped into the hole, likely on top of James judging by the distant colorful swearing.

Harry and Hermione glanced at each other, then followed suit. They jumped more to the side, avoiding the pile of Lyra, James, and Ron, and after a frightful moment of weightless falling they landed on something soft.

"It's dark down here," Ron said, peering around.

" _Lumos Maxima_ ," James said, and a bright white light erupted from his wand. He flicked the tip of his wand, and the orb of light flew into the darkness, illuminating the room and torching the plants around them. Hermione gasped when she saw a mass of plant matter scramble back from the light, untangling itself from their limbs.

"Devil's Snare," said Lyra, getting up and hurrying toward a stone passageway.

The trio scrambled up and pulled their wands out.

"It doesn't like light or heat," Hermione said, testing the plants with a foot and then glancing at James as if for approval.

"Correct," said James. "Ten points to Gryffindor."

Though the room was dark even with James' intervention, Harry could see Hermione preen slightly.

"Come on, you four!" said Lyra from beyond the passageway, and they dashed after her. Then they heard her shout, " _Accio_!"

They came out of the passageway into a brightly lit chamber, where Lyra stood staring up at the high arching ceiling. There were birds flying about, dozens of them.

"They're keys," said Lyra. "I think we need one to unlock the next door." She jerked a thumb at the wall across the room, where a wooden door stood, presumably locked. "Summoning Charm doesn't work."

"Summoning Charm?" said Hermione, in a tone that suggested she had forgotten why they were down here. "I read about those. They seem very useful —"

"We'll help you with that later," said James, "but now we need to hurry."

Harry peered at the lock. A big, heavy silver lock embedded into an equally heavy-looking wooden door; he glanced up at the flying keys, many of which were gold or black, fluttering about at speed with wings of every color of the rainbow. His gaze fell to the broomsticks lying against the corner of the room.

"We're supposed to catch it," Harry said. "Like… like a snitch."

"Well, what are we waiting for?" Ron was the first to reach for a broom; James held out an arm, pausing Ron in his tracks.

James raised his wand. " _Aguamenti_."

It was as if a portal had opened to a raging, rushing river. Torrents of water burst into the air from nothing, twisting itself into a large sphere with the help of Lyra's wand. It grew to the size of a large pool, sucking in the flying keys as they ran out of room to fly around in.

"That's good," said Lyra, sounding as though she did this every day. " _Glacius_."

A pale blue light shot from her wand into the ball, turning it all into ice instantly. Then the whole thing fell, shattering against the ground and spraying chips of ice in every direction. Harry flinched, but the ice smacked against some invisible shield James had conjured.

"Don't want to give you another scar," said James. Harry smiled tightly.

Hermione stepped forward to search for the correct key amongst all that lay on the ground, unable to fly with heavy ice attached to them. Harry and Ron joined her wordlessly. Harry peered into the chunks of ice, the trapped keys distorted in shape and size. With the four of them, they quickly found the right one.

The next room lit up as soon as they stepped inside. They were at the edge of a huge chessboard, behind the black chessmen. Facing them, way across the chamber, were the white pieces.

"Looks like it's your time to shine," James said, glancing at Ron. Meanwhile, Ron looked like he had just won the Quidditch captaincy.

Lyra, always seeming one to ignore the rules, held her wand high above her head.

" _Expulso_!"

The door behind the white pieces shattered inward. By some unspoken command, the black pieces turned around to face them. The pawns raised their swords and shields, the knights their lances, and Harry swallowed and took a step back as the dark warriors loomed over them, casting their shadows far.

But then, as if the pieces heard something they didn't, they straightened and turned around. From beyond the door across the chessboard there came a lumbering sound, heavy and with something dragging across the stone floor.

And through the doorway, ducking to get through, came a troll.

It released an unintelligible roar that nonetheless had the room shake and the five of them pinching their noses. Some of the white pieces rallied and made to attack the troll; its tough hide reduced even the most damaging strikes to nothing more than scrapes and nicks on its skin. Its club was as large as the pawns entirely, and the pieces were thrown aside with its swipes — though not broken.

Harry's head was forced down by James, who cast a shield charm in front of them, blocking a pawn. The shield shattered like golden glass, though thankfully the projectile had been robbed of its momentum.

"Jesus," James muttered. "Shall we go around him?"

"Wow, your Shield Charms are terrible," said Lyra.

"Fuck off," James grumbled. "I didn't have time to brace."

Lyra flicked her wand as a queen went flying right toward her head. James tackled her to the ground just in time to avoid the piece utterly obliterating her face as it shattered right through her shield.

"What the hell?" she said, spitting hair out of her mouth.

"The pieces are reinforced with magic," said James.

"Right," grumbled Lyra, picking herself up and being forced to drop again as a knight skipped across the floor and just barely over her, smashing into the wall with a tremendous bang. "Didn't take that into account. It's probably McGonagall's magic too."

"Come on, little ones," James said, ushering Ron and Hermione forward. "No time to be standing around frozen in mortal terror."

"Can't you do something about the troll?" Harry gasped, ducking behind a stone pillar for his protection.

"Sure, but we're lucky the troll and the chessmen seem to be infatuated with each other," James said. "If we can go through and lock the door behind us, then we'd have killed two birds with one stone."

"God, I'm a genius," said Lyra, and with a leap she sprinted toward the other side, throwing up Shield Charms and using Banishing Charms against the pieces. Then she shot a red jet of light at the troll's face, seemingly blinding it for a moment as she slid between its legs and to the door.

James waited a moment until the troll smacked a few more chess pieces around to shove Harry forward. A black pawn picked itself up and threw itself in Harry's direction but James cast a triple-layered shield over him that managed to deflect it. Harry managed to get through the doorway — after he made it through, Hermione and Ron crashed into his back. James was the last in, and he immediately turned the doorway into smooth stone.

"Lyra," said James, brushing some dust from his sleeves, "you are an idiot."

"Genius," repeated Lyra, panting and smiling. "Do you know how long a chess game would've lasted?"

"With this kid, not that long," James said, clamping his hand on Ron's shoulder. Ron started at that. "Fred and George like to wax poetry about his prodigal talent."

Harry saw Ron's expression become one of pleasant surprise, and no small amount of pride.

Lyra waved a hand. "I'm better."

"We can figure that out later," said James, nodding toward the other end of the passageway.

The next room was empty, the troll having left it; the only thing left was a horrid smell. They moved swiftly through and into the next room, where there was only a table with seven differently shaped bottles upon it. A parchment lay there too. As soon as they stepped fully through, flames sprung up at both entrance and exit.

"This is definitely Snape's handwriting," James said, poking the parchment with his wand. "He's written so many scathing reviews on my essays that I'd recognize it anywhere."

"Really?" said Lyra. "He's never left anything like that on mine." She gave a small self-satisfied smirk.

"That's because he's still lusting after your mother," James said dismissively. Ron gagged.

The smirk vanished. She snatched the parchment and read it. "Blah blah blah, three will kill us, blah blah blah, neither at the ends will get us through — this is dumb. And easy. It's the smallest vial."

Hermione grabbed the parchment next and scanned it quickly. It took her a moment, but she eventually agreed with Lyra.

"But there's only enough for one of us," said Harry.

"Two," said Lyra, pulling out a similar vial from a pocket. "I always knew this Anti-Flame Potion would come in useful."

"What," James said flatly.

Lyra uncorked it and downed it, looking at him. "What?" she said after she swallowed.

"You didn't bring any for the rest of us?" asked Ron.

"Why would I?"

"Why do you even have an Anti-Flame Potion in your pocket?" said James.

"Why do you not?"

James sighed, palming his face. "Guess the other potion is for you, Chosen One," James said, nudging Harry in that direction. "Remember, if you encounter the Quirrell, you don't need to be faster than him. You just need to be faster than Lyra. Blow out her kneecaps."

"Why Harry?" Hermione interjected, and James froze. "Wouldn't it be better if you went?"

"The… cloak?" James said. He turned to Harry. "You have it, don't you?"

"No?" said Harry.

"You take that shit everywhere," James said incredulously. "And the one time you don't have it is when we might be going up against some deranged motherfucker?"

" _James_ ," Hermione said, frowning.

"It honestly doesn't matter," said Lyra, picking up the right vial from the table and holding it up. "Who's going with? James should stay here to guard the entrance." The trio traded glances. "Fine," she sighed. "I'll go by myself."

"No!" said Harry suddenly. "I'll go."

"Harry — are you sure?" said Hermione.

"Yeah, mate, it'll be dangerous... And — you know..." Ron glanced at Lyra with the subtlety of an explosive spell.

"Yeah," said Lyra, "this might all be a plan for me to get you alone so I can kill you and steal the Philosopher's Stone for myself."

"She is the kind of person to do that," James said.

"We're wasting time!" said Lyra. "I'm going with James or one of you three." She gestured at the trio, annoyed. "You can stay here to guard the way and maybe find yourself against a grown dark wizard — or you can have James —"

"I'll go," said Harry again, more resolutely this time. "I'll come with."

Lyra tossed him the vial before he finished speaking. He opened it, traded one last look with Hermione and Ron, both of whom gave him uneasy smiles, and drank it all. It went like ice down his throat.

Together, he and Lyra walked through the fire.

* * *

"Lyra," James called. She wasn't in the library, or the kitchens, or the Quidditch grounds. He had saved his search of the Ravenclaw common room for last, fully intent on abandoning his search if he didn't find her here either. He halfheartedly glanced underneath tables and behind armchairs and occasionally underneath the pillows that littered the worn sofas.

Was she in the girls' dorms? James scowled. Lyra being allowed in his room and him not being allowed in hers was the height of unfairness. If Lyra was permitted to ogle Larissa Morgan in seventh year, then he should be too. James paused in his tracks and contemplated going back to the kitchens. Thinking about melons had made him start craving one.

And it was as soon as he stepped out the portrait that he ran into Lyra, who was holding the Marauder's Map.

"James!" she said, a suppressed grin on her face. She seemed downright jubilant, though hesitant in expressing it.

"Lyra," he said. "Did Roger Davies slip and fall on the Great Staircase somewhere and break his neck?"

"What? Why?" she said, with a bit too much excitement. "Did you hear that from someone?"

James raised an eyebrow. "No, you're just happy about something — but you know people are going to judge you for it."

Lyra's grin wavered again. "Ha," she said uneasily. "You know me too well."

James began walking in the direction of the kitchens. "You really need to get over your little rivalry with Roger. Both of you are ridiculously childish when it comes to each other."

Lyra ignored him and glanced at the Marauder's Map. "Did Dumbledore talk to you already about our little adventure?"

"I did," James said.

"Probably looked through your mind?"

"How should I know?" James thought about it for a moment. "Probably, yeah."

"Good." Then she grabbed his arm and dragged him to where the Room of Requirement was hidden. After she paced three times in front of it, and ignored his questions, the Room was revealed. She nearly threw him inside in her haste. The area within was small and cozy, with two couches and a fireplace and absolutely nowhere for someone to hide to overhear them.

Lyra quickly sat down on the couch and turned her eyes to him. They shone with unholy glee.

"Guess what I have?"

"I don't think I want to know," said James slowly, sitting down on the couch opposite of her.

Lyra reached into her robes... James grimaced, wondering what stupid thing she had done... And then she opened her hand, revealing a small, red stone, glinting slightly from the sunlight pouring in from the windows. James' eyes widened as he realized what it was.

* * *

"I don't even understand the appeal of the Stone," said Lyra as she and Harry walked down the stairs to the Mirror of Erised. "I'm not sure I want to live one century, much less six. Really, if Quirrell finds us and kills us, I don't think I'd even care."

"I wish you would," Harry muttered. He was probably bemoaning the fact that he hadn't taken James instead. If only he knew James was just as morbid in the company of those that could actually appreciate dark humor. Charlie Weasley had been a pleasant surprise; but in hindsight, it would take a certain amount of suicidal stupidity to try and tame dragons for a living.

Well, that was okay. Lyra didn't mean it anyway. It was highly unlikely the Quirrell would reach the two of them in time to retrieve the stone — if he even knew it was being taken. Right now he'd be sipping tea in the least reputable tea house in Knockturn Alley waiting for a self-proclaimed 'friend' who would never come.

Her own doing, of course.

And maybe Dumbledore would be heading back into the castle soon but she reckoned she still had more time. She had, after all, convinced Hagrid to ask for a _very_ thorough investigation into the murdered unicorns. It _could_ be the acromantula, after all, and it wasn't Lyra's fault that acromantula loved inflating their conversations with threats of turning you into dinner for their young. The centaurs _might_ know something, but again, it wasn't Lyra's fault that centaurs loved bloating their discussions with cryptic hints and clues that ultimately led nowhere.

"The Mirror of Erised," said Lyra as she came up to it. She made a show of pacing around it, examining it from various angles. "Dumbledore probably stuck it in here. Can you see it anywhere?"

Harry frowned as he examined the Mirror himself. He brushed his fingers against the back of it, finding nothing, and moved onto the edges. It took too long for Lyra to be comfortable. Dumbledore could be on his way soon.

"It would be just like Dumbledore's style to trap the stone in the Mirror itself," she said, taking a couple of steps back, ignoring her reflection sipping chilled drinks on a beach beside a beautiful woman. "You see anything?"

Harry stared intensely at the mirror. "I still see my parents…"

"None of them are holding a pretty red rock?" said Lyra carefully, her heart pounding. "If we can't retrieve it now…"

"Quirrell gets the Stone," Harry said. "Voldemort comes back."

Lyra put a hand on his shoulder. "We won't let that happen. Getting the Stone is easiest, but we can't, we'll either shatter the Mirror or bring it back upstairs to Dumbledore's office."

Harry nodded, brushing his fingers against the surface of the polished glass. Then his eyes widened, and he failed to entirely hide his gasp. Lyra raised her eyebrows, trying desperately to hold back her triumph. Harry thrust his hand into his trouser pocket, and his hand re-emerged with a red stone about half the size of her fist.

Her mouth became dry. Years of anticipation and here it was at last, the Philosopher's Stone, the end of her deathly fears.

"Wow," Harry said, admiring the way it glittered.

"I hope that's the real one," said Lyra, "and the Mirror didn't give us some fake."

"How do we know?"

"No clue. Here, let me see."

Harry passed it to her with more trust than she expected, given his earlier suspicions.

Her fingers pressed against every crack and chip on the Stone. It was a bit duller than she expected, though it did sparkle with the correct angle of light. It felt rough to her fingertips, and to her surprise, warm. She memorized every aspect of it, pounding it into her mind.

"Lyra?"

Lyra wordlessly passed it back to Harry, who took it, relieved.

"I think that's it," she said. "Let's hope so, anyway." She smiled at him. "C'mon, Harry, let's head back and get out of here. I'm exhausted. You, James, and your friends can take the Stone up to Professor Dumbledore's office. I'm taking a nap."

Harry gave a small laugh and nodded.

Lyra walked behind him as they made their way back. And her hand slipped inside her robe, plucking out another Philosopher's Stone.

It was much more polished than the one Harry held now. Yet, it did not produce the Elixir of Life, nor did it transmute metal into gold. She dragged the tip of her wand against its surface, mimicking the real Stone's rough qualities, the imperfect cuts and dullness, its dimensions, its approximate weight.

Satisfied, she tucked the false Stone back into her robes, just in time to regroup with Ron, Hermione, and James. This would be perhaps the most difficult part.

"We should try to get out before Quirrell traps us in," she said.

James — poor James — nodded in agreement and they set off. He was going to be furious if she carried out the last step of her plan (which she most certainly would). He trusted Dumbledore a bit too much for her liking. Sure, she trusted Dumbledore as well, but she did not trust him to act in _her_ best interests.

Dumbledore was a good man, but he was far too self-restrictive in his pursuit of justice and virtue; and perhaps he would impose his limitations on her, too. She didn't know, and she didn't think it was worth the risk of finding out. He had his history with Grindelwald and Voldemort, and that would be enough to make anyone wary of ambitions like hers. She couldn't blame him, really.

But she had been dropped into this world by some cosmic miracle, and she'd be damned if it was just to get some good grades and live a normal magical life. She had lost all her friends and family. It _had_ to be for something more.

"Oh, look, the troll seems to be losing," James said as they made their way around the edge of the chess room. Indeed, the troll was weakened by hundreds of cuts and stab wounds made by the stone swords and lances carried by the chess pieces. In comparison, the enchanted pieces were apparently indestructible. The furious roars of the trolls were quieter, and when it batted a piece away, it did not fly as far as it had on their previous encounter.

"I hope Fluffy is still asleep," Hermione said nervously.

Lyra patted her shoulder and gave a comforting smile, and Hermione returned it. She felt a little bad about this all, but she had no intention of telling Hermione her plan, no matter how much Lyra liked her. At her very core, at least now, Hermione worshipped authority — and in turn, Dumbledore. She needed a taste of reality first, of the incompetence of leaders, muggle and magical.

Lyra hopped over the puddles made of melted ice in the key room, and James reignited his wand in the Devil's Snare room. They stared up at the square hole in the ceiling from which they could see light and hear light plucking of the harp and triplet heads snoring.

Lyra raised her wand, conjuring a rope ladder. She cast a Banishing Charm and Sticking Charm in rapid succession to glue the ladder to the trapdoor.

"After you, James," said Lyra, standing back and gesturing for him.

"Why me? I'd rather you deal with Fluffy on the possibility that he wakes up," James said.

"If I went before you, how can I trust that you won't look up my robes?"

James looked her up and down. "You're wearing jeans."

"Just go!" said Lyra. "We don't have time for this."

James grumbled as he began climbing the ladder. "As if I'd want to see skidmarks..."

Asshole.

Ron went next, as she'd hoped, and then Harry. James had just pulled Ron up the last few rungs, Hermione had taken her first step onto the ladder, and Harry was about halfway up. Lyra ignored the blood rushing through her ears as she discreetly palmed her wand.

In one moment, less than a split-second, the false Stone in her pocket and the real Stone in Harry's vanished from reality, and then they reappeared, occupying each other's places. As the real Stone settled in her pocket, warm and its magic thrumming, she closed her eyes and took a deep breath.

The Philosopher's Stone was hers.

Her muscles remained tense throughout the rest of it, as they closed the trapdoor, as they vanished the harp and locked the door behind them, as the trio fled to notify Dumbledore. She was expecting something to go wrong.

James twisted his neck and moaned in satisfaction as his joints popped.

"I guess we won," he said, and smiled at Lyra. "We did good work."

Lyra squashed the guilt that bubbled up, but he held out a fist and she bumped it.

"What now?" he said.

"I've got a nap to take," said Lyra, "and then stuff to do after."

James nodded. It was a display of trust which, once again, caused Lyra to feel some guilt at abusing it.

"Dumbledore might want to talk to us," she also said, needing to fully complete the plan, to make sure none of it could be traced back to her. "Can you do the talking, assuming I'm not finished by the time he comes? He might read a mind or two and you know how I feel about that."

"Sure," said James, shrugging. "I'll see you later, then?"

"Yeah," Lyra said with a smile, allowing some of her triumph to shine through. "You will."

* * *

James looked to be struggling for words.

"So, Quirrell —?"

"I sent him a letter to get him out of the castle," said Lyra, the Stone clutched in her hands as she sat rigidly on the couch in the Room of Requirement, ready to defend herself. "I thought about just telling him I knew about Voldemort, but that would've just sent him fleeing. So I told him to meet 'me,' a servant of the Dark Lord, in Knockturn Alley." She couldn't stop the smug smile this time. "Now he'll probably come back only to find Dumbledore's wand between his eyes."

James continued to stare at her, his face nearly unreadable. He was certainly angry to a degree, but she didn't think he was _furious_. She just hoped he wasn't hurt.

"I wanted to tell you," she said, hopping up from the couch. "But there was the chance of Dumbledore wanting to read one of our mind's — so if you didn't know, and he was satisfied with just your mind, then I'd be in the clear." Her smile began to die when he said nothing. "It's the _Stone_ , man! The Flamels would destroy it anyway — what's the harm in taking it for ourselves? _Ourselves_ , not just me. You can have centuries of adventures!"

James sighed and rubbed his eyes hard. He looked up at her, looking both disappointed and defeated. "I should learn the Patronus Charm really soon, shouldn't I?"

"A band-aid solution," said Lyra dismissively. "That's always been your problem. Why learn the Patronus to fend off dementors when you could learn the Animagus transformation and simply escape Azkaban? Why rush to do all these things you want to do, when" — she held up the Philosopher's Stone with what she hoped was a winning look — "you can just live to a thousand and do things at your own pace?"

James shook his head, not at all as amused as she had hoped.

"Any other criminal acts you want to spring with your unwitting associate?" he said, then paused to consider his statement. "I guess it would defeat the purpose if I knew."

Lyra winced. James didn't like to yell or tell people off, but his passive-aggressiveness was a warning sign.

"Dobby?" she said with a nervous laugh. Dobby the house-elf popped up beside her and she shoved the Philosopher's Stone in his hands. "Go — uh — put it in the safe spot I told you about."

"Yes, Miss Malfoy, ma'am!" said Dobby, bouncing on his heels as he took the Stone and popped away.

Lyra turned back to James. "We're about to have a really big fight, aren't we?"

"What's done is done," said James, sighing. "It doesn't change anything by me yelling at you for your stupidity. And, well, can you honestly say that you wouldn't do anything like this again?"

Lyra gave another uneasy laugh. "I'm a terrible person, aren't I?"

"Most would describe you as a bit of an asshole, yes." James smiled then, although it didn't completely hide the grimace beneath. "It's all right. You're my friend. And I'll be here to stop you doing the _really_ stupid stuff — snorting Cornish pixie dust, things like that." He paused, frowning when he took in her guilty expression. "You snorted Cornish pixie dust, didn't you?"

"I'm pretty sure stealing the Philosopher's Stone is way worse than snorting a _very_ small line of pixie dust."

"The Philosopher's Stone doesn't try to kill you."

"Which is exactly why I stole it!" said Lyra. "The pixie dust shortened my lifespan, _therefore_ —"

"No," said James, placing his head in his hands. "I know you're trying to run around in circles to try and lose me again." He looked back up. "What's your endgame, Lyra? What is the Stone for?"

"Eternal youth," she said simply. "I don't want to be immortal, but I don't want to grow old either. I guess it's both a vanity thing and that I just want to see where humanity goes. I want to explore the stars, visit other planets, maybe meet aliens — I don't know, I just don't think two centuries is enough." She shrugged. "Maybe I'll change my mind in a hundred years."

James sighed for the third time.

"Don't you want to be known as the five-hundred-year-old adventurer of the galaxy?" said Lyra, sliding up to him and poking him in the shoulder with a smile. "James Stark, a name known all throughout the universe."

"Do you?" he said with raised eyebrows. "Lyra Malfoy, Empress of the Milky Way?"

"Of course," she said, almost offended. "You know how big my ego is. Though I hope it'll be Lyra Delacour by then."

"You don't like the Malfoy name?" said James. "How are you supposed to tell people 'do you know who I am?' with that attitude?"

Lyra shrugged. "Mum is great. And dad is all right. I think I've softened him over the years. But the Malfoy name is still — well, not great. I think even Lyra Black would come across better to people — especially when Sirius recovers. Weird to think Sirius is like my uncle. Or cousin."

"Yeah, you two are related," James said thoughtfully. "Surely Mungo's will let him out soon, right?"

"I hope so," said Lyra, flopping back down on her couch. "If they don't, you think we should visit Harry? The Dursleys will sort of starve him this summer."

"Oh, absolutely. I've always enjoyed whale watching. We can bring him food while we're at it. Actual food, I mean, not the garbage they like to pretend is edible in this country."

"I'm gonna bully Dudley."

"You're mentally a grown up and you're going to pick on some kid?"

"Gonna kick his teeth in."

"...That does sound like fun."


	4. Summer of 1992

_Summer of 1992_

Narcissa never would have thought she'd be here, shopping with her daughter and her daughter's muggle-born best friend. And being fine with it. Truly, it was a relief that Bella remained in Azkaban. She would hate to have to kill her own sister.

As it was, she might have to defend her daughter down here, in Knockturn Alley. She didn't know how Lyra kept convincing her to do such things as this. Lucius wanted something with Borgin, but what could Lyra and James possibly want down here? She sniffed as a hag slunk back into the shadows after being subjected to Narcissa's arctic glare.

The rabble here was no match for her, but the children were a bit more vulnerable, despite being highly skilled for their ages — and, in her mind, they were naive. This place was dangerous. Even the tinkling bell above the doorway managed to sound disturbing.

"Ah, Mrs. Malfoy," said the slimy voice of Borgin. Narcissa spared him a glance. "Welcome to my humble store. Is there anything I might interest you in? Perhaps your lovely children?"

"Lovely _child_ ," she said, "and her friend."

"Of course. My apologies, Mrs. Malfoy."

"Your apology is noted."

She walked several paces behind Lyra and James, who were examining a large, bland cabinet at the back of the room. She heard Borgin's shuffling steps and she turned sharply, aiming a cold gaze in his direction until he got the hint and moved away.

"What is it you wanted here, Lyra?" she said.

Lyra was about to respond, but she noticed something, and swung the doors of the cabinet open. A young boy was sitting in the cabinet, covered in soot, his eyes wide behind his oversized glasses. The three of them stared at him.

"Is he for sale as well?" James asked.

"What have we here?" said Borgin. Was he _trying_ to annoy Narcissa Malfoy with his nasally voice? "Some sneak, a thief, seeking a trophy from my store?"

"No, Borgin," Narcissa said coldly. "He likely got lost in Knockturn and seeked refuge from _unsavory_ individuals." Her tone made clear just exactly who fell under this category. "It is a dangerous place for children, after all." The last part was aimed not-so-subtly at her daughter and her friend.

"Of course," Borgin said, his tone bitter. "Forgive me."

Narcissa ignored him entirely this time, studying the young boy with glasses, who climbed out with some relief. He looked awfully familiar… though his features were covered in soot. James offered him a tissue, and he wiped his face with it, and when his bangs were brushed away, Narcissa thought she saw something she recognized.

"Hey there, Harry," said Lyra, not bothering with subtleties.

Narcissa hid a smile as she appraised Harry Potter. By all reports, Draco had imprinted a rather unflattering image of the Malfoys onto him. Not even during the school year, but on the damned _Hogwarts Express_. Thankfully, Lyra had been able to salvage that a little.

"Hey, Lyra," said Harry. "And James. And…"

"Narcissa Malfoy," said Narcissa with a small, polite smile. It wouldn't be good to talk to Borgin about selling dark artifacts now, not with Harry Potter here.

"Lyra's mum," said Harry, his wariness undisguised. He shook her hand nonetheless. At least he was polite, or trying to be.

"Can we sell him on the black market?" said Lyra, tugging Narcissa's sleeve.

"How much do kidneys go for in the magical world?" James asked. "He has two, he can afford to lose one."

"Let's not sell Harry Potter's organs," Narcissa sighed. Harry smiled. "Even if they are in high demand." His smile fell.

"We can sell him to Borgin in return for the cabinet," James said.

Narcissa was a little dirturbed by the thought that Borgin would almost certainly agree to a trade like that.

"You know," said Lyra quietly to her, "I'm pretty sure this cabinet has a twin in Hogwarts. It's the same style, with the same runes inscribed on it. If we put this one at home, I could visit more often."

Narcissa smiled at her daughter. "That's very sweet of you."

"And I can visit more often as well," said James. "I'm your favorite houseguest, aren't I, Mrs. Malfoy?"

"You've grown on me," said Narcissa without a touch of sincerity, but then a hint of a smile appeared at the edge of her lips. It was as true as it was absurd. He was certainly better than the Parkinsons. "Very well, Lyra. We shall purchase the cabinet, ugly monstrosity that it is." She turned to Borgin, who had crept back to his counter to do whatever work. "Borgin, this cabinet if you would. Fifty galleons, and no more."

"Ah, but I couldn't sell it for less than seventy," Borgin said apologetically. "I'd be losing money elsewise."

"Borgin," said James slowly, as if he was an idiot, "this is supposed to be one of a pair of vanishing cabinets. The other could be on Mars for all we know. On the active end of a volcano. Why would anyone buy it off you not knowing where the other one is?"

"Then why would you want it?" said Borgin, sneering.

"He doesn't," said Lyra. "I do. It's a project for school."

"Fifty galleons," said Narcissa. "Do not test my patience, nor my generosity."

Borgin stared, then nodded jerkily. Ordinarily, Narcissa would not bother to count her coins too closely, for it did not pain her to part her with an extra couple of coins. However, Borgin was not one she cared to be generous with, and he was handed an even fifty galleons.

"If only you didn't accidentally free Dobby," murmured Narcissa, putting her coin bag back into her robes. "You can't just buy house-elves on the market, you know."

Lyra gave a sheepish smile, and James snorted.

"Have this delivered, Borgin," said Narcissa. "I shall pay for delivery upon arrival."

"Of course, Mrs. Malfoy," Borgin said, baring his teeth.

"Come," Narcissa all but commanded the children. She briefly remembered she had an extra when she held the door open and three kids walked past her. "Did you come to Knockturn Alley alone, Harry?"

"No," Harry said, turning slightly red. "I — er — mispronounced 'Diagon Alley' in the Floo."

"Ah," said Narcissa. "Yes, Lyra's done that a few times. Though I suspect it is always done on purpose."

"Tell him about the time she tried to visit her relatives in France," said James, "and got the police called on her for breaking into an old biddy's house in Yorkshire."

"We do not have relatives in France," said Narcissa, frowning. "Lyra, who did you try to visit?"

Lyra blushed. "No one."

James barked out a laugh. "Oh, my apologies. I meant to say _future_ relatives."

Lyra threw up her hands and turned away to walk back to Diagon Alley. Narcissa followed her, bringing James and Harry with.

"Oh, Lyra," sighed Narcissa. "Why must it be a Frenchwoman? I would accept a German, even, although I would prefer a Briton, but why must they be French?"

Lyra threw a sharp look back at her. "French women are _magnifique_."

"They have no sensibilities," said Narcissa, waving a disdainful hand. "And when did you ever learn French?"

"In a past life," said Lyra nonchalantly.

Narcissa hummed. Lyra did like to bring up the topic of her 'past life' quite often. How did she learn French? Past life. How did she know her brother's name before he was born? Past life. How did she know where Lucius had hidden his firewhiskey? Also past life.

She suspected Lyra had some gift for divination.

"Let's get out of this place," she said, urging James and Harry faster. "We're going to meet with Lucius and Draco soon."

Narcissa pretended not to notice Harry pulling a face, nor the expression of dark anticipation on James'.

The change from dark and brooding to bright and warm was quite abrupt. Saturated magic could and would manipulate the environment it was in, and few examples were as stark as the difference between Diagon and Knockturn.

"Harry!" a voice called, and Narcissa traced it back to a bushy-haired girl waving with both arms from the top of the steps at Gringotts. "Harry! Over here!"

Harry sported a bright grin as the girl rushed down, stumbling to a halt in front of him. "Oh, dear, what's happened to your glasses? Anyway, hello, Lyra, James, and…"

"She's my mum," said Lyra.

"Oh. Hello, Mrs. Malfoy," she said. Narcissa smiled and inclined her head. "I'm Hermione Granger."

"Muggle-born?" Narcissa inquired, recalling a certain Hector Dagworth-Granger several centuries ago.

"Um, yes," Hermione said warily. Narcissa frowned internally; Draco took a little too much after his own father, it seemed, if he was going around insulting mudbloods to their faces, rather than behind their backs.

"Ah. Pleasure to meet you, Hermione. I believe my daughter has told me of you," Narcissa said, adopting a kind smile. Hermione relaxed slightly, nodded, and turned to Harry.

"So, Harry, are you coming to Gringotts?"

"As soon as I find the Weasleys," Harry said, and Narcissa raised an eyebrow. Yes, that would make sense. Draco had complained that Harry Potter had befriended the youngest of the Weasleys somehow. He must have come with the Weasleys, elsewise he would not have access to the Floo. "Do you know where they are?"

"Right behind you," Hermione said with a grin. Narcissa turned around with the kids and saw the Weasley patriarch running red-faced in their direction, along with a few of his fiery spawn. Seeing Narcissa Malfoy, the relieved expression on Arthur Weasley's face curdled.

"Hello, Arthur," shesaid mildly. "Were you looking for Harry Potter?"

"Why, yes, I was," Arthur said. "I wonder where you found him."

"In the heart of Knockturn Alley," Narcissa said. "Hiding in a cabinet in Borgin and Burkes… rather irresponsible of you to let him go alone."

Weasley's face turned as red as his hair. "And I'm sure you had the best of intentions going into Knockturn yourself," he said. "Getting rid of evidence, perhaps?"

"No, we already did that a month ago," said Lyra, giving a genuine smile. "Hey, Mr. Weasley."

"Oh, hello, dear," said Arthur, his tone immediately softening.

"We have something for you," James said, pulling a wrapped box from his backpack. "Here you go. As a thank-you to hosting us a few weeks ago."

"Oh! But you didn't have to..." Arthur looked pleased nonetheless. He tore off the wrapping paper, his eyes going wide. He embraced the two children, carefully holding the box containing a model Space Shuttle away so that he wouldn't crush it.

"You were in their — home?" said Narcissa, not having known this, but Lyra brushed her off with a wave.

"Oh yes," Arthur said with a sharp smile. "Such well-behaved children. I'd love to know the name of the nanny you hired, Narcissa."

"I raise my children myself, thank you," Narcissa said, heat leaking into her voice.

"Oh," said Arthur, seeming honestly surprised. Narcissa scowled. "I didn't take you for the motherly type."

"She's very motherly," said Lyra, sounding hurt.

"Oh, I didn't…" Arthur looked uncomfortable now.

Narcissa took a deep breath, resisting the urge to palm her wand and strike the impertinent Weasley down there and then. "Well?" she snapped, perhaps more sharply than she'd have liked. "Leave, Arthur. You'll find nothing at Gringotts — I doubt your credit rating holds up for another loan."

" _Mum_!" said Lyra, sounding even more hurt now. Percy's jaw had fallen to the ground, amazed that Narcissa had even said such a thing.

"You guys are so cute together," James said, clapping his hands together. "Maybe the two of you should have married instead."

Arthur and Narcissa both glared at him, their feud almost immediately forgotten. James, for his part, smirked in a self-satisfied way.

"Come, Lyra." Narcissa sniffed, pretending James suddenly ceased existing. "After you made me buy that truly hideous piece of furniture, I'll have to withdraw some money for your school supplies." She turned and walked away.

But Lyra didn't come after her.

Narcissa turned around. "Lyra? Come, dear."

Her only reply was a glare.

Some worry wormed its way into her heart. "Dear?"

"I'll meet up with you later," said Lyra darkly, and she turned away from her mother and walked away from them all.

Narcissa chewed the inside of her cheek, as she had done as a child when she was upset. She glanced at James for guidance, who looked as surprised as she felt. He and the Weasley twins shared looks, before taking off after her daughter. A significant part of her longed to follow them, but in the end, her indecision rooted her to the ground, watching their backs disappear into the crowds.

She ignored the Weasleys and the bewildered Grangers with whatever she had left of her dignity and went to conduct her Gringotts business in silence. All the time, however, her mind lingered on her daughter, wherever she was by now. It felt terribly lonely. Lyra and her had gone together for her school shopping for the three years prior, and now, she was doing it alone.

She went about the list methodically, never thinking too much. She left the bookstore for last, knowing it would be Lyra's favorite destination, and hoping that perhaps she would return before Narcissa finished her shopping. Pausing in front of a store selling quills and other stationery, she stared at the eagle-feather quill, shining gold from the flickering candlelight, and wondered if Lyra would like that.

No, she complained about having to use 'feather dusters' for writing often enough. She preferred pens. Perhaps the goldsmith would be willing to make something of the sort? Engraved with her favorite flowers, or animals, perhaps. Unlike with Draco, Narcissa couldn't just slap the Malfoy coat of arms onto something and present it to her.

Narcissa continued to stare at the quill for a very, very long time. Then all the noise around her vanished, as if a silencing spell had been placed. Her daughter's voice spoke up behind her before she could turn around.

"I just don't understand why you can't be _nicer_."

Narcissa turned, finding Lyra standing several paces from her. Close enough she could see the glistening in her daughter's upset eyes, but not so close as to imply intimacy.

"Lyra, I…" Narcissa sighed. "I'm sorry."

Coming up next to her, Lyra crossed her arms and stared at the quills through the window.

"Father got into a fistfight with Arthur," she said. "Then he slid a cursed artifact into Ginny Weasley's cauldron."

" _What_?" hissed Narcissa.

"I took it out," said Lyra, sighing. "No, you can't have it. After what you just both pulled, I don't think I'll be giving it back." She shook her head. "Do you know that I want to one day help the world?"

Narcissa raised an eyebrow. "Not to rule it? As you've been saying since you were three?"

"If I had to," said Lyra, and Narcissa knew that this time it was not intended as a joke. "I don't really care to. It's not the point. I just want to stop people's suffering." She finally looked at Narcissa. "That _includes_ muggle-born, muggles, the poor — everybody. House-elves, centaurs, even non-sapient animals."

"And I'm not what you'd find in this little utopia of yours," said Narcissa, a little dismissively.

"No," said Lyra. "You're not."

The implications of the simple statement nearly took away the air in her lungs. Lyra was _serious_.

"If you weren't my mother," continued Lyra, with the final blow to Narcissa's heart, "I'd probably hate you and everything you represented." Lyra swallowed hard, refusing to look at her as Narcissa's heart struggled not to split in two. "The pure-blood nonsense, the superiority, the _cruelty_. Mother, I didn't free Dobby by accident. I freed him because I was sickened by how father treated him, like he couldn't feel pain or something. Like Dobby's howls of agony were just manufactured by magic and nothing more."

"I —"

"I know you didn't like it either," said Lyra, "but you never spoke up. Never acted in Dobby's defense. You could only grimace. You let him suffer for years and years because you didn't want to step out of your comfort zone."

She turned her eyes to Narcissa, full of angry tears.

"I couldn't have asked for a more loving parent. And do you know how _hard_ it is to conflate these two sides of you? There's the loving mother, who'd without hesitation die for me just like Harry Potter's muggle-born mother died for him — and then there's this _cruel_ side of you, sneering at anyone you think is below you."

"That Weasley had the audacity to — to —" Narcissa struggled, due to both indignation and the heat of Lyra's own words searing across her chest.

"Do you blame him?" hissed Lyra. "No one else sees the side I do, the side I love. Everyone else — _everyone_ — sees nothing but a cold, cruel woman. And at times, that's exactly what you are. But my friends are muggle-borns, blood traitors, house-elves, whatever. It doesn't matter to me. And it shouldn't matter to you either." She held up a hand when Narcissa opened her mouth to object. "I know you don't agree. And that's just something I have to work with. But it hurts, mum. It hurts every time you say something horrible."

Narcissa said nothing. No justification would've been good enough for her daughter. She was intelligent enough to realize that her family growing up was not the most tolerant of the magical world; going to Hogwarts, with all sorts of children with all sorts of backgrounds, truly hammered that in. She still had nightmares about her father, sometimes, the way he might read bedtime stories to Narcissa while Andy cried herself to sleep in the next room, and how hard it was to reconcile those two things.

Did she appear to Lyra like Cygnus Black appeared to her?

It was hard to swallow her daughter's beliefs. Surely she knew of how barbaric the muggles were, with all their wars and ways of living; or how they'd treat her for her preference for women.

Maybe the muggle-borns who assimilated were okay. Perhaps there were even some muggles who were fine and not like the rest.

"I want to change this world for the better," Lyra said with quiet conviction. "Maybe I'm stupid, or naive and I'll just give up before I even graduate — but I don't think so. And I can't just give you a pass for how you treat others. I want to help people. And you, Dumbledore, Voldemort — none of you can stop me." She swallowed. "Remember how I told you Quirrell was in league with Voldemort?"

Narcissa fought as she always did to avoid flinching at the name.

"Yes, I remember," she said, grimacing. "I'm not sure how Dumbledore let that happen, but at least he took care of it in the end."

"I'm the reason he was able to," said Lyra.

Narcissa frowned. "What do you mean?"

"I knew Quirrell was possessed by Voldemort."

" _Possessed_?" said Narcissa, feeling the air knocked out of her lungs yet again. "He was — the Dark Lord was _in the castle_?"

Lyra nodded calmly. "And I knew. I staged a confrontation between Quirrell and Dumbledore. Voldemort pretty much fled immediately, leaving Quirrell's body to crumble behind. Dumbledore didn't even get a chance to question him. But yeah, I'm the reason."

Narcissa couldn't stop herself from trembling. "Did you — did he, that is — did he know?"

"The Dark Lord?" said Lyra. "I doubt it. You're missing the point anyway. Voldemort stands in my way. And all that? It's _nothing_ to what else I've done."

Narcissa didn't know what to think or say. How does a parent react to their child confessing they fucked over the most powerful and evil wizard of all time? And that it was " _nothing_ " to the other things she'd done. She wasn't sure if she even wanted to know.

Narcissa threw herself at Lyra, wrapping her arms tight around her.

"Lyra..."

"Still love you, you know," whispered Lyra.

Narcissa's smile was wide enough that her cheeks hurt. She fumbled with her handkerchief for a bit before replying, her mind whirling with thoughts.

"I love you too, Lyra," she said softly. "Never doubt that."

* * *

"What are you reading about?" Hermione inquired, leaning in to get a better look at the cover of James' book.

 _Compendium of Highly Dangerous Magical Creatures, 5th Edition_ , it read. James had a frown on his face as he slowly closed the tome and looked up at Hermione.

"I'm reading about basilisks," he said.

Hermione frowned. "You mean the 'kill you with a glare' kind of basilisk?"

"That's the one."

"Are you planning to encounter one?" said Hermione with a careful, hesitant smile.

"Yes."

"Oh," said Hermione with a small nervous laugh. "May I ask where?"

"Who knows." James shrugged. "I'm going to be an adventurer, you know."

Hermione's face immediately changed from wary to excited. "Oh! Like Professor Lockhart?"

James grimaced. "I was planning on this long before this year…"

"Maybe you can ask him for pointers! I bet he's really knowledgeable about all of this," Hermione said, then grinned, rummaging through her trunk. She came back up with a signed copy of _Travels with Trolls_. "He tells you how he survived with trolls, and things like that… They're quite clever, really!"

"I've read that," James said. "I might even find it educational, if the writing wasn't so self-congratulating."

Hermione pulled a face as she put the book back in her trunk. "You're just jealous he did everything before you."

James gave her a funny look, then opened another book on the same topic. "I don't think he did these things on his own, Hermione."

"Well, yes, in some of them he did have help, but he still _did_ these things."

"Not what I meant."

"Well, what did you mean?" James didn't respond. "Fine, then," she said, raising her chin. "Sulk."

James looked up at Hermione. "When did you become so sassy?"

"I'm not sassy!"

"Maybe I should make sure Percy Weasley knows about your bedtime, or you'll get even more cranky."

The stinging hex sent his way splashed harmlessly against the cover of James' book. James muttered something under his breath ("Fucking Lyra") before going back to his reading material.

"So," Hermione said, forcing the topic back on track. "Were you planning to fight a basilisk?"

"Eventually." James snapped his book shut. "But it would be nice if I could find some decent information about them. Basilisks aren't exactly common. The last one was found in India over a hundred years ago, and most of the information we have comes from what we can discern from autopsies or fossils, so their behaviors, diets, habitants and so on, haven't been recorded."

Hermione leaned forward. "And what have you learned?"

"Frustratingly little, as you'd expect. They're hybrid species, like chimera. They're called the King of Serpents, owing to their potential to grow to immense size and their crown-like head ornament. Once they're large enough, they can cause death with eye contact; even when they're tiny, they'll still paralyze you. Their venom is lethal in small doses, with the only known cure being phoenix tears."

"That's… not much."

"No, it's not."

"And you're still going to pick a fight with one?"

"Undoubtedly," James said with a grin. "Can't be an adventurer without fighting a giant mythical beast or two."

"You're an idiot, James."

"Tell me something I don't know, teacher's pet."

"Do you know where Harry and Ron are?" Hermione asked suddenly.

"Not at all. Maybe they're being homeschooled this year. Maybe they're hiding somewhere and they're stuck because Percy and Penny are making out in front of their hiding spot."

Hermione sighed. She'd only met Penelope a couple of times, being one of Lyra and James' prefects and their occasional study partner, and she seemed like a nice enough person — but Percy and Penny's levels of public affection was starting to become infamous.

A pile of books suddenly slammed into the table, startling her. Hermione turned around and saw Lyra, looking tired and annoyed.

"Look who decided to grace us with her presence," said James. "Hello, Lyra. Which firstie did you bully into tears today?"

She gave him a flat stare. "I don't know their names, but they're in our house. Little assholes." She flopped down in a chair with a heavy thud. "I hate children."

" _Lyra_ ," Hermione said, and James sighed.

"They're evil creatures," said Lyra without remorse. "A bunch of Ravenclaw first-years were bullying this girl called Luna."

"Fight bullying with more bullying," James said, nodding. "I'll be sure to remember this nugget of wisdom."

"Well, it works. A little too well. I think I've sort of adopted Luna now."

"What are those books for?" said Hermione, always more interested in books than school drama. Lyra's face turned from sheepish back to annoyed.

"Alchemy," she said, frustrated. "I can't figure out how the damn Philosopher's Stone works."

Hermione frowned. "Why do you want to know?"

"Do you think I want to rule the world for only a century?" said Lyra. "How am I going to become Empress of the Galaxy if I die of old age at two hundred?"

"Yes, that does seem like a conundrum," said Hermione absentmindedly, flipping through some of the books. "Do you really think you can recreate the Stone?"

"I should've just stolen it," grumbled Lyra. "At least Voldemort wouldn't have it, then."

Hermione chewed the inside of her cheek. "Do you think he's created a new body for himself yet? Professor Dumbledore seemed really worried he'd be back soon."

"I doubt it," said Lyra, yawning. "Apparently alchemy works best with those that are _purest of souls_." Her face twitched with annoyance. "Which is exactly why I can't — wouldn't be able to use it."

"I bet Nicholas Flamel just made a new Stone and went to Holland or something," James said quickly. He tossed a book in the air, and the enchanted tome fluttered back to its proper position in the library. "He and his wife are probably enjoying themselves in the red light district now, higher than astronauts."

"What's a red light district?" Hermione asked curiously.

"Ask McGonagall," James said. "I'm sure someone like her would know about the topic better than I do."

" _Professor_ McGonagall," Hermione corrected. "I'll do that as soon as I see Professor McGonagall at Transfiguration class this afternoon."

James smiled briefly, before pushing it down. "Sounds good."

Lyra closed her eyes and shook her head.

* * *

Professor McGonagall closed her book with a soft thump. "Are there any questions?"

Seeing nobody else raise their hands, Hermione raised her own.

"Yes, Miss Granger?"

"I was speaking to a friend, and they mentioned something called a 'red light district'," Hermione said. Professor McGonagall blinked. "He said that you would know all about it."

Professor McGonagall stared at Hermione for a very long time, enough that Hermione fidgeted awkwardly in her seat.

"And who, pray tell, was the friend that told this to you?"

"James Stark?"

McGonagall closed her eyes as if in prayer, muttering something under her breath. She looked back to Hermione. "If you do meet Mister Stark later today, please notify him that he will have detention with me tomorrow."

* * *

"Wasn't that stupid to say?" said James. "That you'd like to steal the Stone? And then that slip-up? ' _I can't_ '? What if it gets back to Dumbledore?"

"It's fine," said Lyra dismissively.

"Uh, _is it_?"

"James, I was doing drugs like a fucking champion when I was living in my muggle parents' house. How do you think I got away with it?" She gave him an expectant look. " _By telling them I did drugs._ So any time they might've been suspicious when I was acting funny, they assumed I was just being a dumbass."

"And you're sure the drugs didn't make you a dumbass?" said James.

Lyra shrugged. "Maybe. Maybe none of this is real and I'm just tripping on DMT."

"Well, I'm not disappearing Back To The Future-style after hearing that, so I think I'm real." James paused, taking a moment to assess his surroundings. Seeing nobody else present in this corner of the library, he took out a small, plain-looking black book from his pocket.

"You know you can't just take stuff out of my trunk, right?" said Lyra. "How'd you even get into my dorm?"

James said nothing, instead flipping it open: the first page was blank.

"Don't," said Lyra warningly. "You're not familiar with soul magic, James."

"And you are?" said James.

"No, I'm not, which is _precisely why I haven't written in it_ ," said Lyra as though he were stupid. "Sixteen-year-old Riddle is cleverer and more powerful than us."

"He also got his ass kicked by some random twelve-year-old kid even though he had a giant snake on his side," said James. "Besides, the knowledge we could milk from our friend here is a lot more useful than that rock you can't even use. And I'll be careful in extracting it."

"How, exactly?"

"Here, I have a completely unrelated, un-cursed diary," James said, placing another book onto the table. "I've drawn up a timetable for every single day of this school year. I'll write down every action I took, where and when. I'll have Dobby check in with me once an hour to correlate if my actions are accurate to what I've written. I've also progressed quite far in Occlumency over the summer, if I do say so myself."

Lyra glared for a long moment, then she did the thing she always did when she knew she had no argument left: her glare dropped, she shrugged, said, "Okay," and went back to her book.

"Glad to receive approval from the queen of good judgments."

"Hey, I got the Stone, didn't I?"

James ignored her, taking his pen, and wrote in flowing letters on the first page: _My name is James Stark_.

For a moment, nothing happened. And then it responded.

_Hello, James Stark. My name is Tom Riddle. How did you come by my diary?_


	5. 1992, September

_1992, September_

Cedric had already been warned about the effectiveness — or lack thereof — of their new professor, Gilderoy Lockhart. While he was famous for his many adventures, Lyra and James were skeptical of his abilities; Cedric decided to reserve judgment for himself.

Professor Lockhart strutted between the desks and removed his cloak with a swirl of fabric. He tossed it, landing it neatly on the hat stand, then sat on the edge of his desk with a gleaming smile.

"Welcome, class!" he said with a little too much enthusiasm. "Welcome to your first Defense Against the Dark Arts class of the year, with yours truly, Gilderoy Lockhart!"

Cedric felt his cheeks burning in second-hand embarrassment when a few of the girls in the class giggled at his charm.

The man had cultivated an excellent image for himself. He was charismatic, brave (supposedly), and very much attractive. Despite being in his late twenties, he appeared much younger. His skin was smooth, his hair shone, and Cedric noted that he was quite fit when the man rolled up his sleeves. He would've thought this was simply his personality, flamboyant and silly, but with the skepticism of Lyra and James hanging in the back of his mind, Lockhart suddenly seemed as though he was trying too hard — almost as if he was compensating.

In only a few minutes, Cedric was beginning to feel a little disappointed.

He glanced to his left, where Lyra and James sat in his corner. To his amazement, and befuddlement, Lyra seemed entranced. She was smiling with clear awe at Lockhart, resting her head on her hand as if in love.

 _What the_ —? he mouthed to James.

James shrugged. He quickly began doodling on the back of his copy of _Voyages with Vampires_.

"As an introductory lesson, I think we should all introduce ourselves to each other," said Lockhart, refusing to let up his wide smile. "I'm sure most of you know exactly who I am, but there are some things that not even my diehard fans know about! But before that, let's try a quick quiz, shall we? Just to test your knowledge on my books, nothing to worry about!"

He began walking between the desks, manually handing out sheets of paper, face-down. When he returned to the front of the classroom, he clapped his hands together.

"Everyone ready? Good. Now… begin!"

Cedric turned over the first page, scanned the questions, and promptly decided the man was a complete and utter fool.

He turned back to James with an expression of despair. James snorted at his expression, before holding up the back cover of the book he was doodling on. A large picture of Lockhart was silently screaming in horror at the little toothbrush mustache and undercut that had been graffitied onto him, trying to claw it off with his manicured two-dimensional hands. Cedric bit down on his knuckles to keep from laughing.

Lyra on the other hand seemed to be taking the test seriously, filling out every question — but Cedric noticed something: she had her wand in her hand, pointing at Lockhart, and every now and then she would mutter something under her breath, take a moment, then write out the answer for whatever question.

" _What's she doing_?" Cedric whispered.

James leaned closer to her as she muttered something again. He turned back to Cedric, placing his fingers on his temples and adopting a constipated expression. Then he pointed in Lockhart's direction.

Lyra was… reading Lockhart's mind?

" _Legilimency_?" whispered Cedric in disbelief.

James nodded. Then he passed a sheet to Cedric, who glanced up at Lockhart, but he was focused elsewhere (on his own life-size portrait). Cedric stared down at the sheet, and frowned. They were Arithmancy calculations. Much more advanced than the stuff they'd been studying last year, but Cedric had practiced over the summer, so he was able to read it, though barely. It was supposed to be some sort of jinx — no, a curse.

A variation of the Tongue-Tying Curse, it seemed. He recognized the Tongue-Tying Curse as it had been used as an example last year; it was among the less malicious curses, so it had been deemed safe to study, apparently. He also recognized something else… something similar to what he had seen in the Confundus Charm, some sort of mental compulsion component.

At the top of the page, the words ' _Caveman Curse_ ' was written out in capital letters and underlined twice. Cedric gave a flat look to James, who seemed inordinately proud of himself.

Lockhart clapped his hands again, startling students from their quizzes.

"Time's up!" he called. "Quills down, please, and pass your tests to the person sitting in front of you!"

The tests were collected and Lockhart quickly scanned through them. He hummed or frowned appropriately in places, before setting them down on his desk behind him and beaming at the class.

Cedric saw James flick his wand under his desk, mutter something under his breath (it sounded suspiciously like " _Ungabunga_ ") and a jet of nearly-invisible blue light streaked across the classroom and splashed against Lockhart's chest.

" _Ungabunga!_ " said Lockhart, and Cedric clapped his hands over his mouth. Lockhart, for his part, seemed not to notice the difference, even as the rest of the classroom stared with wide eyes. " _Bunga doonga ooga?_ "

And so it went. Cedric saw one of the 'Puffs, Ellie Harper, place her head face down onto her folded arms, desperately trying not to make a sound even as her shoulders shook. Lyra gave James a dirty look.

"I'm trying to get easy passes to the Restricted Section here," she said.

"Yeah, but isn't this way better?" said James, struggling not to break into open laughter.

" _Doonga lunga bunga?_ " said Lockhart, his palms out in question to the class.

Lyra's lips twitched too.

* * *

There was a big pool in the Room of Requirement. Lyra floated in the center of it in a swimsuit, arms out wide, with the biggest smile he had ever seen on her.

"What the —?" said Cedric.

Lyra laughed lightly. "Elixir of Euphoria," she said. "Wonderful... Everything is beautiful. James, what a wonderful world... _I see trees of green_ ," she began to sing softly, " _and red roses too..._ "

Cedric closed his eyes tight and James shook his head in disbelief.

"She promised me that she wouldn't do magical drugs _two weeks_ ago," he said to Cedric.

"Did you expect her to keep that promise?" said Cedric, eyes still closed.

"Not really. She's an idiot."

Cedric glanced nervously at the pool, firmly avoiding Lyra herself. "We should go, let her enjoy her… moment, I guess."

"A true gentleman," James said. "Alright, we'll find some other place to practice. I still don't see why you want to practice for _Lockhart's_ dueling club, but whatever."

Cedric shifted as they turned around. "I just don't want to embarrass myself. Not that you'd know what that means, you have no shame."

"You won't embarrass yourself in some dueling club organized by Lockhart of all people," James said. "And you think too lowly of your own skills. You'd wipe the floor with any student in this school that's not me."

"Lyra would take offense to that."

"She's in no state to take offense to anything right now."

" _Here's a little song I wrote_ ," sang Lyra, " _you might want to sing it note for note — don't worry, be happy —_ "

"I hate that song," James grumbled.

"Come on, let's get you out of here," said Cedric, before James decided to obliterate Lyra's moment of peace.

"Are the Weasleys joining us?" asked James, as they headed down to the grounds — the only other place open enough in the school to practice no-holds-barred dueling.

"Not today." Cedric shook his head. "They have detention. Speaking of, last week must have been your first detention with McGonagall, huh?"

"Don't remind me," James said. "I tried to serenade her into a lesser punishment, but it didn't work."

Cedric stared at him. "You're _mad_."

James shook his head. "It must have just been my singing voice, or lack thereof. I'll practice in case I get detention again."

They headed down onto the grass by the lake. James kicked off his shoes, sending them flying off into the soft grass, and removed his wand from his sleeve. He twirled it experimentally in his hand before turning to Cedric.

"The usual rules, then?"

"Sounds good," Cedric agreed.

No Unforgivables, and to first blood. There wasn't much in the way of rules, otherwise.

Cedric drew his wand. Ash and unicorn hair, twelve inches. As if sensing Cedric's excitement, the wand warmed in his hand, nearly vibrating as it urged him to attack. James would likely let him, always the one to be let others strike first.

Cedric struck.

The ground beneath James rumbled and deformed, pockets of earth rising and creating steep valleys. As James balanced on one foot, not taking the duel very seriously, Cedric cast five disarming jinxes in rapid succession, each aimed slightly away from each other.

James cast a Shield Charm without even looking at him, and the jinxes splashed without effect against it. Cedric twisted his wand again, conjuring a thick hose of water that blew into James' shield and outward, creating a mist that — Cedric hoped — would blind James.

Then the water froze, and before James could throw an unimpressed look at him, it shattered from the force of Cedric's Banishing Charm, hurling small shards of ice all over towards James. He swished and flicked his wand lazily, sending the shards flying into the sky with an almost annoying dismissive attitude.

Cedric didn't have the opportunity to strike again before he was rolling to the side to avoid an assortment of joke spells. He responded with a pair of Stunners that dissipated upon contact with a short earth wall.

" _Bombarda Maxima!_ " Cedric shouted, looking to blow through it.

The wall exploded, sending dust and dirt into the air and into James' shield, which, to Cedric's surprise, exploded upon collision with the debris, sending much of it back in Cedric's direction.

Then the dust in the air seemed to expand, as if it was smoke, turning inky black and billowing all over the field. And Cedric saw it was spewing out of the tip of James' wand. Cedric sent a curse in his direction, but James disappeared into the blackness.

" _Ventus_!" said Cedric, but the blown away smoke was immediately replaced with dozens of mindless ravens hurtling toward his face. They flew into his hastily conjured shield, then up and around it in an attempt to get around the shield wall — but Cedric closed it off, turning the Shield Charm spherical. He saw nothing but black wings beating wildly around him.

He mimicked James from earlier, and exploded his shield. Though nowhere near as powerful as James', it gave him a split second that he used to conjure a storm of fire, whirling into the ravens, sending them away and incinerating those that didn't.

One raven however swooped to the ground and under his legs, and Cedric belatedly realized that this raven wasn't as mindless as its fellows. When Cedric turned around, the raven was gone, replaced with James himself, and a bolt of yellow lightning darted into his chest, striking him down onto the ground.

Cedric groaned, his arm spasming as he attempted to curse James, and his wand fell through his twitching fingers onto the ground.

"I win," said James, as Cedric continued to thrash on the ground, gritting his teeth.

Cedric panted, resting his head back against the ground.

"Not fair," he said. "You didn't tell me you were an Animagus."

"I must have forgotten," James said smugly. "I only completed the transformation during the summer, after all."

Cedric threw a rock at him, which missed. "Oh, shut up." He sat up. "Lyra's one too, I'm guessing?"

"Nah," said James, holding out a hand for Cedric to pick himself up. "She's been too focused on her whole Philosopher's Stone thing."

"Does she really think she can recreate one?"

James just shrugged, in a manner that suggested he didn't really care for the topic.

"You're getting better," he said finally. "You'll mop the floor with Lockhart, I'm sure."

"Are you guys coming?" Cedric asked, and James chewed his lip.

"I want to," he admitted. "But I don't want to bask in Lockhart's presence any longer than I have to. I'll end up murdering him if he keeps flirting with his own portrait between sentences. I'll see if Lyra wants to come, and if she does, I'll go as well."

"She won't. Is my presence not good enough for you?" Cedric said, huffing out a laugh.

"I'll tell you what, I'll come if you 'accidentally' murder Lockhart halfway through."

"Deal," said Cedric instantly, and they both laughed out loud.

"Ah, Mr. Diggory, Mr. Stark," said a voice from behind them.

They turned to find Dumbledore approaching.

"Very impressive duel, you two," he said with a smile. "Very impressive indeed."

"Professor," Cedric said, surprised.

"Though," said Dumbledore, giving James a pointed look, "I hope you know that Animagi are, by law, required to register themselves at the Ministry?"

"Of course," said James. Cedric noted that James made no mention of actually doing so, and it seemed that Dumbledore noticed it too, judging by his wink. Then he grew a little more serious.

"I admit I had an ulterior motive for seeking you out," he said. "Have you seen Miss Malfoy, by any chance?"

Cedric and James glanced at each other.

"She's, uh, preoccupied," said Cedric.

"I see." Dumbledore watched Cedric's fidgeting form with curiosity. "With a boy, I assume?"

James snorted. "She's saving that for a special French someone," he said. "Nah, she's just tripping balls at the moment."

Dumbledore hummed with amusement. "The vitality of youth. I know it well."

"Wait," said James, "are you trying to say — ?"

Dumbledore's small smile grew, and both boys stared at their illustrious headmaster in disbelief.

"The muggles used to call me — what was it? Ah, yes, a _hippie_." Dumbledore shook his head in fond reminiscence. "I will have to reprimand Miss Malfoy, however, for she is young and her mind is still developing."

James stared at Albus Dumbledore with renewed opinion; though whether that opinion was better or worse than before, Cedric couldn't tell. They began walking back to the castle. Some of the few students sitting outside to enjoy the afternoon sun glanced in their direction.

"Now that you mention it," James said, "you _are_ a bit… loopy."

"Five points from Ravenclaw," said Dumbledore as they entered the entrance hall, and five points were indeed removed from the Ravenclaw hourglass.

"Wait, points are actually removed when I banter with the teachers?" said James. "Oh _no_."

James' expression of distress was not very convincing, and Cedric laughed.

"It seems the loss of points does not deter you," said Dumbledore, lightly. "Some time spent cleaning the trophy room, perhaps?"

"Oh, look," James said, pointing, "there's the one you were looking for."

Cedric followed James' finger to Lyra Malfoy, who was nearly skipping down the grand staircase with her arms swinging wildly about, a wide smile on her face.

"She's going to fall," said Cedric. "Someone should stop her."

Dumbledore hummed in agreement, before removing his wand from his sleeve. With a casual flick, Lyra's near-uncontrolled stumble down the stairs was slowed down. Like she was walking on the Moon, she floated down towards the bottom of the stairs.

" _Whoa_ ," she said, looking delighted. "This stuff is amazing."

"Good afternoon, Lyra," said Dumbledore mildly, replacing his wand in his sleeve.

Cedric would've laughed at the expression Lyra wore when she looked up at the headmaster, if not for worry that Dumbledore would remove some points from Hufflepuff as well.

"I am glad you are enjoying yourself," said Dumbledore, "but there are some important matters I must discuss with you. If you are agreeable, I would like to take it to my office." He gave her an expectant look when she just stared, wide-eyed. "Shall we?"

Lyra glanced at James, seeming to communicate something with her eyes.

"Uh, yeah," she said to Dumbledore. "Let's go, sir."

"Wait," said James, "are we coming as well?"

"Not this time," said Dumbledore, giving a tight smile. "I will be divulging information the general public does not know, and I would prefer it not be passed around."

"But Lyra loves gossiping," said James. "She'll probably spill the beans to us anyway."

Lyra shrugged, avoiding Dumbledore's eyes. Cedric felt she was rather uncomfortable with the idea of being alone with him.

"Then you may hear it from Miss Malfoy," said Dumbledore. "I am sure she will use her judgment."

* * *

Lyra wasn't sure if she was thankful the Elixir of Euphoria was wearing off. She would be clearer of mind, sure, but now the panic was settling in. A conversation with _Dumbledore_. It was frightening, and exciting, and she knew she had to keep him out of her mind.

Would he even look into it? Did Albus Dumbledore casually do such things?

"Ah, here we are," he said when they arrived at his office.

 _I know who killed Ariana, I know who killed Ariana, I know who killed Ariana_ — she repeated the words in her head, Occluding all else. If he so much as glanced in her mind, he would hopefully throw himself back out in shock before he saw anything else. It would raise many questions, her knowledge of Ariana, but so would any other voyage into her memories. This way, she would at least know immediately.

However, Dumbledore gave no indication of having heard such, and sat down on the chair behind his heavy desk, inviting Lyra to sit with him. She did so. The chair was tacky but heavenly, bleeding away some of her nerves as she sunk into it.

"There are a few matters I wished to discuss privately with you," said Dumbledore. "The first and most important business is regarding Lord Voldemort."

"Have you caught wind of him?" said Lyra, trying very hard to sound the right mix of casual and intrigued.

"Not even a breeze," said Dumbledore. "And that is what worries me. A silent, unseen predator is more frightening than the one you can spot."

"I'm not sure what I can do about that," said Lyra, unsure if she was giving too much eye contact or little. And were her hands fidgeting too much?

Dumbledore interlocked his fingers and lowered his chin behind them. "How well do you know your family's role in the first wizarding war?"

"You want me as an insider?" said Lyra, cutting to the chase. "If Voldemort comes back, to spy?"

"Not quite," said Dumbledore, raising his head and leaning back. "I would not have a fourteen-year-old girl put herself at Voldemort's mercy."

Lyra raised her eyebrows. "Wouldn't you? If the situation was dire enough? I'd be at his mercy anyway, being a Malfoy."

Dumbledore considered the question, then inclined his head. "I might consider it. But no, that is not what I wish to ask you now. The situation is not, at least I hope, quite so dire. _I hope_ , you see."

"Ah."

Dumbledore gave a soft smile, maybe tinged with a little bit of regret. "You understand, then, how awkward of a position this puts us in. I must ask a young woman to potentially speak behind her family's back."

Lyra sunk further into her seat, resting her chin on her fist.

"My parents won't —" But she stopped, because she knew she couldn't say that with certainty. "My mother wouldn't join him. Not again."

"I am not necessarily asking if they would join him — if Lucius would join him, to be blunt, or if they have already. I ask if you know if they've been contacted by Lord Voldemort, or any of his servants."

"No," said Lyra.

"No odd comings and goings?" Dumbledore said. "Leaving with little notice —?"

" _No_ ," repeated Lyra. "My mother would have told me."

Dumbledore remained silent for a moment, neither agreeing nor disagreeing, merely studying Lyra's face.

" _My mother would have told me_ ," she said again, firmly. "I've told her about my involvement with Voldemort last year, and that I'm not sorry about it, my part in exposing him and ruining his plans or whatever. If my mother knew of anything, she'd tell me. She wants him back less than me."

Dumbledore hummed. "And what would you do if he was to come back?"

Lyra remained silent, unsure herself.

"You could flee," said Dumbledore idly, "but your own aunt would hunt you to the corners of the world. You could stay and pretend you support pure-blood supremacy, but Lord Voldemort is the most accomplished Legilimens the world has perhaps ever seen. No infiltrators have fooled him before."

"None?" said Lyra, with the clear doubt and intent in her tone that told Dumbledore she wasn't simply curious but _knew_ it wasn't true.

"I trust you speak of Professor Snape," said Dumbledore. "Hm. Let me correct myself: none have escaped whole, not without terrible loss."

Lyra interlocked her own fingers then, her elbows on the armrests, and put her chin down on them. "Do you have something in mind, then?"

"There was an organization." He eyed his phoenix, Fawkes, for a moment. "Made up of individuals who wished to resist Lord Voldemort from the shadows."

Lyra had to lower her mouth further behind her fingers in case she smiled or laughed. Was Dumbledore seriously about to invite her into the Order of the Phoenix? She loved the man, truly, but there was something comical about this, when she had stolen the Stone right under his nose.

"Mostly, they engaged in counter-espionage and sabotage," he said. "We worked in secret, hindering Voldemort's operations while providing safety and anonymity. Sometimes it was only temporary; many of our number were still killed."

"And you're thinking of starting it up again?"

"Oh, I have," said Dumbledore. "If Lord Voldemort can figure out a way to use the Philosopher's Stone to return back to life, fully, we are looking at another potential war. And, as astute and clever as you are, it won't come as a surprise to you that I have entertained the thought of lending an invitation to you."

"To hide if he came back soon," said Lyra, "but to fight one day when I'm older, if I wanted?"

Dumbledore smiled. "I must say, you are truly one of the most clever students I've had the pleasure to talk to — both you and James. Clever and _skilled_. Sometimes, you remind me of Voldemort when he studied here, when his name was Tom Riddle."

Lyra laughed nervously. "Why, was he pretty?"

"Many considered him handsome, yes," said Dumbledore, "but I mean more in his extraordinary talent in magic. So, as unethical as it may be to say to one as young as yourself, yes, I think a witch of your caliber would be a highly valuable asset to the Order of the Phoenix — when you are of age, of course. _Especially_ when you are of age."

"And my family?" said Lyra.

"We could protect them, but I am afraid I could not grant them any real membership into the Order. I hope you understand."

Lyra nodded. "Honestly, I wouldn't trust my father either. I think I could get him to abandon Voldemort, but I don't know about fighting against him."

"Indeed," said Dumbledore.

Then he opened his mouth but closed it, falling into silence as he thought about something. Lyra herself was struggling with her rising guilt. Dumbledore had already restarted the Order, all to prepare for a Voldemort that would likely never even resurrect. He didn't even have the Stone.

"After the first disappearance of Lord Voldemort," said Dumbledore at length, "I have had time to think. Though pure-blood supremacists often boast of not holding bigotries the muggles do — regarding sexuality, race, and gender — there is still a terrible prejudice against many, even publicly. I do not mean muggle-borns; Minister Fudge's campaign, for example, ran on a pro-muggle slogan. Minister Fudge is also open about his — well, he would call it caution..."

"But it's bigotry," said Lyra. "Against werewolves, house-elves, giants, centaurs, vampires, goblins —"

"All ethnic groups unfairly persecuted by the Ministry," said Dumbledore, nodding. "Lord Voldemort's success as the Dark Lord is unsurprising, therefore, given his promises to some of these groups. The Ministry's cruelty toward those deemed non-human is itself despicable, but the hatred it inflamed drove countless to Lord Voldemort's side."

"And —" Lyra hesitated, unsure of how to proceed without sounding too confrontational. "Have you, sir, helped on that front? Being Chief Warlock and Supreme Mugwump? I'm not really sure how much you can even do in those positions," she added quickly.

"I have, many times before, proposed Hogwarts to be opened to werewolves. I was told no, but I let one in anyway. I have sent envoys before to notable giant clans. The same goes for centaurs, merpeople, goblins. I have championed House-Elf rights."

"Is that it?" said Lyra, and she didn't stop the frustration from showing. "I mean, you're the most powerful wizard in the world. Can't you, you know, toss your weight around a bit more?"

"I thought so, once..." Dumbledore said after a moment. "I was younger then, less experienced. I thought I knew better than everyone else, and…" He sighed quietly.

A heavy silence stretched between the two.

"You don't trust yourself," said Lyra simply.

"I don't," Dumbledore said. Then he smiled, albeit wearily. "But I believe others, young but good, will help build a kinder world for us all. It was my hope the Order could be the beginning of this, after Voldemort's defeat, but we shall see."

"Build a kinder world how?" said Lyra, very carefully. "Slowly, through the Ministry, while who knows how many suffer in the time it takes?"

"I have no illusions that it will be easy," he said. "Prejudices run deep; it will be a long time before centaurs, merpeople, or even squibs are afforded the same respect and dignity that witches and wizards are."

"You could be dead before that happens," said Lyra bluntly.

Dumbledore smiled. "I am aware of my age, yes."

Lyra struggled not to sigh in irritation. She knew that Dumbledore knew exactly what she was hinting at. She stared at him until he gave up on the pretense.

"What you hint is dangerous," said Dumbledore finally. "I also think it is foolish to attempt to force a change in long-held beliefs. People must be persuaded. And I think the way is empathy, patience, and general kindness. Otherwise, whatever one builds may crumble as soon as leverage is lost."

Still, she didn't say anything. She scratched at the wood of her armrest, running her tongue over her teeth in an attempt to not say what she wanted.

"You disagree?" said Dumbledore, a curious glint forming in his eyes.

Lyra stood, sighing heavily, and paced away to one of his bookcases. It would be stupid to give him anything more. She should just nod her head and act the naive child he probably thought she was, rather than the twenty-thirty-whatever year old she was now.

But would it even matter? She would never stand a chance against Dumbledore, not now, not in twenty years.

"I think people are stupid," she said, whirling around. "It took muggles _centuries_ to get where they are, and even now, I'd be killed in some places for my sexuality. How many have died or suffered in the time it took to end slavery? How many more before they finally give people equality?"

Dumbledore eyed her. "I had thought you, Lyra, were more against that kind of talk than your parents."

She flashed him an annoyed look. "That's not what I mean. The muggles were just an example. It all applies to the wizarding world too. I don't think we're superior — at least not in that way."

"Then in what way?"

"There would be plenty of muggles that I'm sure I could trust to set things right," said Lyra, taking the time to think her words out. "But even if they have the right ideas, they don't have the power. _We_ do."

"What you propose is a worldwide coup, pure and simple," said Dumbledore. "I could manage it, even quickly, but I am old. What of my successor? Will he or she be as kind as I hope I would be with the system I've put in place?"

Lyra shook her head. "You're not understanding."

"Then make me understand," said Dumbledore gently.

Lyra stared at him for a moment, unsure if she should say it. Then she figured she was already far enough in.

"I think you're scared," she said. "I think what I'm saying reminds you of Grindelwald and you don't want to even entertain any ideas even close to his."

The gentle patience in his face seemed to fade, but it was not replaced with any coldness or hostility. Just simple observation.

"I agree with your assessment," he said, after a long silence. "But I knew Grindelwald personally. It is not a story many know: he and I were friends, once. I was less wise then, and I was charmed by his words and nature. He was as passionate as you are now, and he was also just as convinced that he was doing the right thing. For the Greater Good, he used to say."

"But I don't want to do things his way!" she said, indeed passionately. "I don't want to kill whoever stands in my way. I don't want power. I don't want an army of inferi. I'm _not_ willing to do whatever it takes for the greater good."

This seemed to give Dumbledore pause. Lyra knew he had been too reflexive, too reactive, assuming she was talking the way Grindelwald had. A spark of hope flickered inside her. If she could distance her ideas from Grindelwald, could she get Albus Dumbledore on board in some way?

"I don't want to rule with some iron fist," she continued, using her momentum. "I just want to rid the world of corruption, poverty, war — place _good_ people in the right positions, a system with checks and balances and all that, without any bloodshed if possible, and then — and then I'll fuck off to my island of veela."

Dumbledore raised his eyebrows, then his beard twitched, and Lyra couldn't help the small laugh, which was joined by his own.

"I mean," she said through an amused breath, "you already want to create some cabal of influential individuals working together to create a better future, don't you?" Then she laughed again. "Mum told me about something called the _Slug Club_."

Dumbledore actually grimaced slightly. "Ah, heard of Horace's little project, have you?"

"Mum and Father were members, I think. They said Slughorn wasn't very subtle about what he was doing, either."

"No, he wasn't," Dumbledore said. "But he was quite good at what he did, not that you heard it from me."

Lyra sat back in her seat, feeling good about how the conversation was now going. Then a thought popped into her head.

"Are you going to offer James membership for the Order as well?" she asked.

"I've considered it," Dumbledore said. "But as a muggle-born, I worry he would not understand exactly why Voldemort was feared as much as he was. Nobody lives to underestimate Voldemort a second time."

"He's not as experienced in magic as I am, being muggle-born and all, but he knows not to underestimate Voldemort. He's been inventing a bunch of spells lately, actually. They're even useful — sometimes."

"Ah, yes." Dumbledore tried and failed to stifle a small smile. "I hear he's the reason Professor Lockhart's vocabulary has regressed several tens of thousands of years."

Lyra shook her head good-naturedly. "Wish he didn't. I was trying to butter him up so I could get unlimited passes to the Restricted Section of the library."

"Oh?" said Dumbledore, beard twitching again. "I'm sure a lack of passes hasn't stopped you before."

"No, but it gets annoying having to keep an eye out for Madam Pince. Bet she didn't get many hugs as a child." She spotted his unimpressed look and held her hands up. "I haven't used any books for any nefarious purposes. Truly."

Dumbledore nodded absentmindedly. "Does Mr. Stark know of these thoughts and plans of yours?"

Lyra frowned. "Thoughts, sure. I don't really have any real plans, though. I don't think he takes it too seriously anyway."

"He doesn't take anything seriously."

She laughed. "It'll probably get him killed one day."

She had to admit she enjoyed the flow of banter with Dumbledore. She understood what James meant now. It was a bit of a shame Harry never got much of this side. Speaking of Harry...

"Hey, sir," she said, "what's going on with Sirius Black? Is he better now?"

"In recovery, still," said Dumbledore. "Were you looking to meet him?"

"I'm looking for Harry to meet him. He needs some family. Some proper family," she added, her lips twisting in displeasure. "I visited him over the summer."

"So I heard. It was kind of you."

Lyra shrugged. "Just wanted to make sure he was doing okay, give him some fun over the summer. James and I took him to the Weasleys on the Knight Bus. Do you think Sirius could take Harry in?" she asked suddenly. "I'd love to have him over my house, but we both know that'll never happen."

"Particularly not now, with the potential return of Lord Voldemort," said Dumbledore. "The Dursley home is quite well protected, if I do say so myself. I personally involved myself in its construction. I believe it is the only protection Lord Voldemort could not ever learn to bypass."

"Why not just have Sirius transfer the Secret of his family home over to you with the Fidelius Charm?" said Lyra. "You can be the Secret Keeper. I know that couldn't have worked when Harry was a baby, because there'd be no one you could trust to raise him — especially since everyone thought James Potter's own best friend was a Death Eater and if not him then who? — but —"

"It's possible," Dumbledore said, interrupting her rambling. "I shall discuss this with Sirius, not to worry. And I think that is all I have to discuss with you today as well."

"Okay," she said, feeling rather satisfied with how this all went. "And you'll help me take over the Ministry, right?"

Dumbledore peered at her over his glasses.

"My loyalty is not so cheaply bought, Miss Malfoy."

"Actually," said Lyra, standing up and ignoring him, "I'm pretty sure I could just get Father to pay Fudge off to stand down and let me take over." She walked to the door, casually explaining her plans of world domination to no one in particular. "Oh, and I'll put Aberforth in the position of Head of the Board of Governors, obviously." She turned around as she opened the door and looked at him seriously. "To oversee things here at Hogwarts, you know — make sure you're doing your job."

"The impertinence!" shouted one of the portraits as she made her way out.


	6. 1992, December

"Mate," said George, "you look like shit."

James Stark glared at him. "Fuck off."

"No need to be rude," said George casually, sitting down across James, uncaring of the stares he drew from the surrounding Ravenclaws. "So what's got you in this mood?"

"Couldn't sleep," James groused.

"Yeah, I get that," George said. "Graham likes to bring over that girlfriend of his at night whenever he reckons he can get away with it. It's bloody gross is what it is."

"Graham?"

"Yeah, Jack Graham. Our year, Gryffindor, looks a bit like a dumpling."

"Right, yes, that one." James, after a moment, shuddered. Probably making the mistake of imagining Graham at night with his girlfriend. "Davies likes to do that sometimes."

"Oh?" George said, leaning in.

"I cast a Silencing Charm on him whenever he tries," said James. "I don't really know what he does with his girlfriend. Nor do I really want to know."

"Well, knowing his atrocious Quidditch skills, I've no doubt that he aims for the wrong hole every time," George said, and James choked on the orange juice he was drinking.

"What are you doing here anyway?" James asked, changing the topic.

"What, am I not allowed to visit my friend who's looking like rubbish?"

"Depends on whether you're here to cheer me up like a friend should, or to rub it in my face."

"A bit of both, I reckon."

George took a moment to stack his plate with pancakes and drizzle a generous amount of syrup onto it. James had stolen a bowl of mixed berries from the group of girls sitting next to them and was tossing them in his mouth like popcorn. George was slightly distracted by a pretty blonde Ravenclaw that passed by the two of them.

"Stand in line like the rest of us," James said, idly stirring his cup of tea.

"She looks familiar."

"Yeah, your brother's dating her older sister."

"Her sister's Penny Clearwater?"

"Mhm," said James. "You've never met Victoria?"

George shrugged. "Maybe I did and just forgot."

It might be a bit rude, but honestly, George didn't bother remembering people that weren't interesting to him. James was interesting. Harry Potter was interesting. Percy Weasley decidedly was not interesting, and if he weren't part of his family, George would probably forget Percy's name unless he was constantly reminded of it.

"Ready for Arithmancy?"

"When am I not?"

George, to his surprise, actually enjoyed the subject. He'd been more than suspicious when James invited him along. Fred had turned down the offer, going with the less study-intensive Divination instead. Admittedly, George had struggled at first, but with James' help, he'd had the last laugh over Fred, who continued to grumble about Trelawney's senseless lectures.

They stood, and James released an almighty crackle from his spine as he twisted his body. They left the Great Hall, a little before the rest of the student body would, barely beating the crowd. Their bags trailed after them, floating in the air — because bugger what the professors said, they deserved to use magic in the hallways.

"Good morning, gentlemen," Professor Vector said as they arrived to class. "Any new projects, Mr. Stark?"

It was ironic, George thought, that the strictest teacher in the school — except maybe Snape, and _possibly_ McGonagall — would adore James Stark, Ravenclaw delinquent, as her star student.

"Yes, actually," said James, removing a sheet of parchment that was placed carefully between the pages of his Arithmancy textbook. Curious, Professor Vector approached him, and James handed her the sheet. Her eyes scanned through the document.

"A _Lumos_ variant?" Vector reread several portions. "With elements of heat… the Hot Air Charm. A _Lumos_ that produces no light? I'm not sure I understand."

"It doesn't produce visible light," James said. "Theoretically, the spell will produce microwaves."

"Microwaves?" George asked. "Isn't that some sort of oven that muggles use?"

"The microwave oven uses microwaves to cook food, yes," said James.

"So this spell cooks food?" Vector asked, handing it back.

James gave a small smile. "Among other things."

"Professor," said Clearwater from the door, having apparently watched the interaction. Vector turned to her. "I also brought something I'd like you to see, if you're willing."

"Of course," Vector said, taking parchment from her. George could barely make out the cramped writing, with neat diagrams and explanations attached. Quite unlike James' creative process; while James' handwriting was neat, his sketches were not, and he had little sense of organization on his page, with random thoughts and comments placed wherever there was space on the parchment.

"Is she challenging me?" James whispered.

"Are you going to take this lying down?" Cedric whispered back, and George snickered.

"Very impressive," Vector said finally; Clearwater straightened as she took back the parchment. "Very impressive indeed. If I must guess, this is a variant of the Confundus Charm."

"It works to disorient," Clearwater said. "It has an area of effect, rather than concentrating on one person. As such, the effect lessens the more people are in the area, but…"

"But a regular Confundus Charm will already do that," said the bored voice of Lyra Malfoy as she walked into the room. "You just have to be powerful enough."

Victoria Clearwater utterly ignored her.

"Still quite impressive," said Vector. "Take five points for Ravenclaw."

George could've sworn that Clearwater glanced back to look at James. James clearly noticed as well: his parchment crumpled a little in his grip before he got a hold of himself. George frowned internally. James had never seemed to care much about Clearwater until recently.

The tension generated by James' and Clearwater's subtle war was broken when Lyra slumped into the seat to the right of Cedric, her head hung back dramatically, as if even showing up brought her agony. "Why did I take this class..."

Soon, the rest of the class trickled in. There weren't that many in their year — Vector _was_ pretty strict and, as was rumored, gave out a lot of homework, so many students opted for other electives instead. There had also been a few that dropped out of the class after the first couple of days.

If they'd stayed a bit longer, they might have learned that Professor Vector really didn't care about the completion of homework compared to one's understanding (much to George's relief). She handed out homework as remedial work; those who showcased sufficient knowledge of the class didn't have to complete it. If not for this fact, James Stark — whose homework was routinely drawn on, turned into paper airplanes, exploded, and so forth — would not be Vector's favorite student in their cohort.

"Welcome, everyone," said Vector, mentally tallying the attending students. "Yesterday we finished our reading of chapter five of _Numerology 2_ , which pertained to geometrical favoritism, if you recall. Today we'll be going through the contents of chapter six, and if time allows, we'll begin discussing chapter seven as well."

George almost groaned. No homework was nice, but the fact that they were scheduled to go through the entire textbook in only three months said something about Vector's teaching practices _during_ class-time.

Vector expected her students to read ahead during their own time, with a more detailed explanation covered in class. George followed along in James' copy of the book — James, for his part, just folded his arms and stared at the professor, a calculating look in his eyes. His gaze occasionally flickered to the sample diagrams and calculations on the blackboard, but for the most part, he settled for listening to Vector.

However, George nonetheless glanced every so often at Clearwater, and whenever she raised her hand to answer a question correctly, George saw that the corners of James' mouth would tighten, though only slightly. It wasn't like James at all. He was never a jealous sort. Other people's superior knowledge or skills never bothered him.

"You alright?" George finally leaned in and asked.

"Peachy," said James.

He didn't sound it.

"...And can anyone tell me the minimum number of sides that are required to stabilize this configuration?" Vector asked. "Miss Clearwater?"

"At least nine," she said promptly.

"Quite so. Although you _can_ reduce the number through more advanced methods —"

"Six," James interrupted. "It's possible to arrange hexagons in three-dimensional, warped conformations to minimize strain."

Vector paused. "Indeed," she said. "Although I would appreciate if you didn't interrupt me when I'm speaking."

If George spoke out of turn like that, he'd have lost points for sure.

"This is beyond the curriculum, and you will not be assessed on it. It is covered in your N.E.W.T. curriculum, should you choose to take N.E.W.T. Arithmancy."

"Calm down, mate," Cedric said, leaning in. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong," said James curtly.

"I don't believe you," said George bluntly. If he listened _really_ hard, he reckoned he could hear James' teeth grinding.

"My apologies," said James abruptly, and George blinked. "I didn't intend anything by it."

George watched as James smoothed out his face into a blank mask and acted the perfect student, seemingly paying the entirety of his attention to Vector and the blackboard. But it wasn't real — it couldn't be, could it? Nobody could change their emotions so abruptly. One possibility was that he was using Occlumency to control his emotions — at least, George thought it was. Bill was the only Occlumens in the family, and his explanation on what it actually was hadn't been particularly detailed.

"Oi," he whispered, "what's Occlumency?"

James gave him a bland glance. "It's what you use to protect yourself from Legilimency."

"That's it?"

"Basically."

"Bill said it can be used for a bunch of things, like controlling your emotions."

"Yeah," said James. "I suppose you could. The mental techniques you use for Occlumency can be used to control your thoughts and emotions… But it's not Occlumency doing it. Flying skills provide the same foundation for playing Beater or playing Chaser. Something like that. It is useful if you want to sleep dreamlessly, for example."

"You're an Occlumens, right? How come you don't sleep well?"

James's brow furrowed and he hesitated. "I don't know."

With that vaguely disturbing statement, James lapsed back into silence, leaving George to be bored on his own. If he'd sat in James' seat, he would've been able to talk to Cedric without drawing Vector's attention. He sighed before half-heartedly focusing on Vector's lecture.

* * *

Once again, Hermione could only marvel at the soft bundle of cloth in her hands.

When Harry wore it, any part of his body covered would disappear. Yet, despite her hands being hidden underneath the cloak, the cloth remained opaque, a beautiful, shimmering silver. It was as if the cloak knew the difference between being carried and being worn.

Lyra appeared to be in a very good mood indeed, as she almost skipped her way to the Room of Requirement. Hermione followed, feeling some worry and a bit of jealousy she tried to quash. It would've been nice if she could bring her parents… She dearly wished she could share the awe that she felt on her first night at Hogwarts with her mum and dad.

Lyra paced impatiently in front of the blank stretch of wall, before a door popped into existence. She threw open the small, inconspicuous door and walked into a circular room, at the center of which was the Vanishing Cabinet.

Hermione hadn't known about this object until today. By apparent coincidence, Lyra had found the other of the pair at some antiques store, and had nagged Mrs. Malfoy into buying it. Again, Hermione felt some jealousy, this time at the fact that the antiques markets that _she_ went to only had ugly t-shirts and other rubbish that smelled of cigarette smoke.

"You've met my mum, haven't you?" Lyra asked idly, standing in front of the cabinet.

"At Diagon Alley," said Hermione. Lyra glanced at her wristwatch and waited.

At precisely half-past seven, Narcissa Malfoy stepped out of the cabinet with great dignity. Hermione marveled at how smooth and graceful she was, despite the fact that she was literally stepping out of a piece of furniture. Mrs. Malfoy was dressed in smooth black robes with silver accents, the barest sparkle of jewelry completing the picture of a wealthy aristocrat.

"Lyra," she said warmly, even as Hermione's friend dove into her arms.

"It's good to see you again," said Lyra.

"It's only been three days since our last meeting," Mrs. Malfoy said, amused. "But it's good to see you too."

"Three days?" Hermione said, raising an eyebrow.

"Ah, hello, Hermione, dear," Mrs. Malfoy said, peeling away from Lyra. "And yes. Lyra, being the spoiled little princess that she is, takes the opportunity to sleep in her own bed at home instead of the Hogwarts beds."

" _Mum_ ," whined Lyra. "I don't do that." She turned to Hermione. "I've Transfigured my dorm bed into a bigger and better one. Ask Clearwater what she thinks of it." She grinned, then clapped her hands. "Right. We've brought you something to hide with."

"Is that an Invisibility Cloak?" Mrs. Malfoy asked.

"It's not just anInvisibility Cloak," Lyra said. "It's a Potter family heirloom, apparently. Seriously good quality. So, uh, try not to get hit by anything while you're wearing it."

Mrs. Malfoy rolled her eyes and she draped the cloak over her shoulders, becoming a floating head in the darkened room. "I'll not see the Cloak damaged, don't you worry."

They stepped out of the Room of Requirement, the door shrinking into nonexistence behind them.

"I can't believe I agreed to this still," said Mrs. Malfoy from beneath the Cloak. "Covering your mother in drapery like some unwanted furniture, good grief."

"Hey, you said you wanted to spend more time with me," said Lyra, her joy so clear it was almost infectious.

"So I did," said Mrs. Malfoy, the smile audible in her voice even if she was invisible. "It will be interesting to walk through these halls again, I admit. And I am intrigued to see you duel, too."

Hermione rather liked it when Lyra was genuinely happy like this. Despite often making jokes and not taking things very seriously, Hermione rarely saw pure joy in her. There was always an undercurrent of seriousness there.

"I wonder who will be supervising," Hermione said.

"Perhaps Flitwick," Mrs. Malfoy said. "They say he was a dueling champion in his youth. Though Severus might be in attendance as well."

"What makes you say that?" asked Lyra, from curiosity rather than any sense of disagreement.

"Severus was a most voracious duelist when he was younger," said Mrs. Malfoy. "He came close to defeating me several times."

"But not quite?"

"Not quite," Mrs. Malfoy said. "I can't wait to see the look on his face when he realizes that I'm in attendance."

"Mrs. Malfoy, is that… wise?" Hermione asked. "I don't know if that's against the rules…"

"Most assuredly," Mrs. Malfoy said. "But Severus clearly doesn't care about the rules either, when he can get away with it. As a Gryffindor yourself, I imagine you know well about Severus' propensity to ignore or enforce the rules as it suits him."

Hermione's thoughts on that matter must have leaked onto her face, because Narcissa Malfoy laughed softly.

"So, Hermione, will you be dueling tonight?" Mrs. Malfoy asked.

Before she could answer, Lyra placed her hand on Hermione's shoulder. "Of course she is," Lyra answered in her stead. "We wouldn't want to let all your training go to waste now, would we?"

"Training?"

"I've been teaching her a little of this and that," said Lyra, a hint of pride in her voice. "She's surprisingly good at it, no matter how much she denies it."

"I'm not," Hermione protested, prompting soft chuckling from thin air. "I'm nowhere near as good as you or James or Cedric…"

"They have more experience than you, dear," said Mrs. Malfoy. "And James is a fantastic duelist."

"Know who's better?" said Lyra.

"You, on the other hand," said Mrs. Malfoy, "have let it all go to your head. You might do well with a humbling defeat or two."

"James is a lot more arrogant than I am."

Hermione hesitated, not wanting to talk badly of her friend.

"And he's a lot worse than usual about it," Lyra added, saying out loud what Hermione had been thinking.

"Oh?" Mrs. Malfoy asked.

"Yeah," she said, frowning. "He's just more prideful lately. I performed a charm better than him the other day and it put him in a bad mood." She frowned. "He's in a bad mood a lot lately."

Narcissa Malfoy remained quiet and Lyra fell into a thoughtful silence. No one talked the rest of the way down to the Great Hall, where the Dueling Club would be held. As they walked through the massive entranceway, they saw the long tables had vanished, replaced by a long, golden catwalk on the center, and a large golden stage where the staff table would usually be. The many thousands of candles floating high in the ceiling had dimmed, giving the hall a much more mystical appearance.

"They've certainly spent some time on aesthetics," Mrs. Malfoy said. "I daresay they succeeded, if their goal was to impress."

The students began trickling in; some were already having mock-duels in the midst of the crowd, being a general nuisance to all. Both older and younger students came in, murmuring amongst themselves, though there weren't many as this seemed to be an introduction to dueling. Hermione spied a tall figure in a black robe flow into the room, the students parting before him. Beside her, Hermione heard Mrs. Malfoy stifle a laugh as Severus Snape scowled at the students scurrying out of his way.

"Oh, Severus," she murmured, "never change, will you?"

"I dunno," Lyra said. "Would be nice if he wasn't such a bitch."

" _Lyra_ ," Hermione said, then blushed as Mrs. Malfoy laughed.

"You'll be a prefect," Mrs. Malfoy said to Hermione, who flushed further.

"I mean… I would like to be?" Hermione said weakly.

"I can tell," Mrs. Malfoy said dryly.

Hermione saw a mop of fiery-red hair on a lanky frame and grinned. She waved. It took them a moment to notice. Harry elbowed Ron in the ribs, pointed at Hermione, whispered something, and came pushing through the crowd over to them.

"Perhaps I'll go greet Severus," Mrs. Malfoy said mildly as the boys approached.

"Hey, Hermione," said Harry. "Hi, Lyra."

"Professor Snape's attending," Hermione said, and Harry's smile turned upside down. "Oh, don't pull that face. Mrs. Malfoy said he was a voracious duelist when he was younger."

"That's even worse," Ron said. "This just means he finally has an excuse to humiliate us."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "He's got more sense than that, Ron."

As Ron and Harry looked around for more newcomers, Hermione turned towards Professor Snape. She couldn't hear anything, but she saw the dour professor jump in surprise, almost turning his wand on the invisible assailant. Then she saw him scowl, and Hermione thought she heard feminine laughter.

"Your mum's more like you than she cares to admit," Hermione said to Lyra.

"Don't tell her that. Wait, is that James?" Lyra said, standing on her tiptoes to look over the heads of everyone in the way. "I think it is."

"Does he see us?" Hermione asked. She couldn't see much, being shorter than Lyra.

Lyra withdrew her wand and waved it in a loose circle. " _Expecto Patronum_."

From the tip of her wand burst a beautiful silver cat that circled above their heads twice before flying towards the entrance. The students watched the animal soar through the air. It sparkled brilliantly, like a ray of morning sunlight shining through rolling fog in a lush valley. Hermione wasn't too sure, but it felt like a comforting warmth had descended upon her shoulders like a mantle.

"Lyra," Cedric said, as they approached. "You finally mastered the Patronus?"

"Took you long enough," said James, seeming to be in a good mood, a rarer occurrence as time went on.

"Had better things to do than learn this useless charm," said Lyra as the feline bathed her paws. Then she looked at some unseen object of interest and pounced, disappearing into mist in the process. "Hm. Must've gone off to fight the dementors hundreds of miles from here."

"You'll be glad you learned it one day," said James. "Only a matter of time before they send dementors after you."

"I'd love to see them try," said Lyra, unconcerned.

"I wonder who'll be teaching us?" said Ron, looking around.

"As long as it's not—" Harry said, but trailed off, groaning. Hermione turned and saw Professor Lockhart on the elevated stage, waving at the students, trying to calm them down.

"Can everyone hear —? Good, good," said Professor Lockhart. "Then welcome, everyone, to our little dueling club! Headmaster Dumbledore has given me permission to start this up, to train you all in case you ever need to defend yourselves — as I have done countless times in the past."

"Now let me introduce my assistant, Professor Snape," continued Lockhart. "He assures me he knows a tiny little bit about dueling himself, and sportingly agreed to help me with a little demonstration."

Hermione glanced at Professor Snape, whose face might very well have been carved from rock. She felt a little sorry for Professor Lockhart, but frankly, the more he talked, the more he dug his own grave.

The two professors stood on opposite sides of the catwalk, their wands held at the ready. Hermione winced as Professor Snape's Disarming Charm sent Professor Lockhart into the wall. The Slytherins cheered, and Hermione was fairly certain she heard Lyra cheer as well before an invisible figure smacked her.

"Excellent — ah — demonstration, Professor Snape," Lockhart said, his smile a bit shakier than usual. "I could've blocked that, of course, but for educational purposes I thought it best to let it connect…"

"Looks like there's one person Snape hates more than you, eh, Harry?" James said, leaning in. Ron snorted a little.

"He's such a fool," Cedric said with a sigh. "I don't understand what was going through the Headmaster's mind when he hired this man."

"He was probably thinking, ' _I really need to find another Defense professor before the Ministry chooses one for me_ ,'" said James. "Or he was just stoned. Whichever."

"Why do you keep insisting the Headmaster does drugs?" said Hermione, both annoyed and amazed. Cedric and James shared an unreadable look as Lyra gave a low laugh. Lockhart's voice cut them off.

"Into pairs you go!" he said. "Divide yourselves up, find some space —"

Harry and Ron looked at each other, before suddenly, Professor Snape was looming over them, a sneer on his face.

"Time to split up the dream team, I think," he said, his eyes scanning the students around him. "Weasley, you can pair with Finnigan."

Harry shuffled closer to Hermione.

"Oh, I don't think so," said Snape. "Potter… Mr. Malfoy, come here. Let's see what you make of the famous Potter. And you, Miss Granger — you can partner with Miss Bulstrode."

Hermione's heart plummeted as she faced off against a mean-looking girl with at least half a foot and three stone over her. Her weak smile was not returned by the girl, who just gained a malicious glint in her eyes.

"You'll do fine," said James, then he paused. Lyra had partnered with Cedric — now flipping James the bird — and James' eyes widened in horror as he realized that Professor Snape was the only one who didn't seem to have a partner.

"You'll do fine," Hermione mocked, and James gave her the stink eye before walking over to the impersonable professor with bravado. She turned instead to her opponent, who sneered.

"Everyone with a partner? Ah, even you, Professor Snape!" Lockhart laughed. Hermione felt bad for James, knowing that Professor Snape would be in an even fouler mood. "Well, everyone bow!"

Hermione bowed politely to Millicent Bulstrode, who didn't even bother with the act. She ground her teeth at the sheer disrespect she was being shown. She wanted to be that way? Fine. Hermione would show her.

 _Master a few spells,_ rang Lyra's voice in her head. _What's the point of learning three different versions of slowing or freezing charms_?

"On the count of three — one, two —"

Bulstrode whipped up her wand and sent a bolt of rather nasty-looking red light in Hermione's direction. Hermione squeaked, barely dodging out of the way as her body turned sluggish in her response to fear.

" _Locomotor Wibbly!_ " Bulstrode snarled, sending orange light her way. However, the wand movements for that spell were long and tedious, and Hermione saw it coming. She stepped to the side, neatly dodging it, and settled into the dueling stance Lyra had shown her, casual and loose; though Hermione didn't think she could pull off a casual stance like Lyra could.

"I can do this," she muttered to herself, before shouting, " _Stupefy!_ "

The spell missed, hitting some poor upperclassmen behind them. Bulstrode stepped forward, likely trying to intimidate Hermione, but she only found this to be the perfect opportunity. From this distance, she couldn't miss.

" _Expelliarmus!_ "

Unlike Professor Snape, her spell only had enough power to send the wand clattering out of Bulstrode's hand, and the Slytherin girl stared for a moment at her empty fingers. Then she snarled, and lunged barehanded at Hermione, who dodged back with a gasp.

Then Millicent Bulstrode's outstretched arms and feral grin crashed into an invisible barrier that conjured itself in front of Hermione. The Slytherin staggered back, dazed, and Hermione blinked.

"Thank you," she whispered.

"No need to thank me, dear," came Mrs. Malfoy's silky voice from just behind her.

As Bulstrode stomped away in search of her wand, Hermione looked around, finding James and Professor Snape. To her surprise, James wasn't doing too badly, though he looked a bit frustrated, and Professor Snape didn't seem to be trying too hard.

Still, judging from the look Professor Snape was giving James, it was still an accomplishment. There almost seemed to be a small gleam in his black eyes, almost as if he were enjoying himself. But then he noticed everyone's attention on their duel, and it was like a switch flipped.

One moment it was only James firing off spells as Professor Snape almost lazily deflected them, the next it was Professor Snape firing off what must've been half a dozen spells in the blink of an eye. Two missed, one sent James' wand flying, and the other three put James to the ground, wrapped in rope, and hanging upside down. Hermione wasn't sure which spell did what.

"Now, now, Severus, let's not get too excited," Professor Lockhart said as the audience clapped and whispered in excitement. "But excellent show, truly! I didn't think that a fourth-year could push you so hard, ha-ha!"

Hermione swore she could hear Professor Snape's teeth grinding.

"Maybe I'll challenge you next, Professor Lockhart," said James, using some wandless spell to burn through the ropes and fall to the ground. He stood up and Summoned his wand back into his hand. Professor Lockhart's smile faded a bit.

"Excellent suggestion," Professor Snape said, sneering. "Perhaps you'll do better than I did, _Gilderoy_."

"Ah — as much as I'd love to, I'd have all of these students to watch over!" Professor Lockhart said. "We need to make sure they don't get injured, eh? In any case, I think I should teach you all to _block_ spells before teaching you to duel. I'll need a volunteer pair — Longbottom and Finch-Fletchley, how about you two?

"A bad idea, Professor," Professor Snape said. "Longbottom causes constant disasters in the classroom. I'd imagine if we let him be the demonstration we'd be sending what's left of Finch-Fletchley to the hospital wing in a matchbox." He sneered. "How about Potter and Malfoy?"

"They're second-years, they won't know the Shield Charm," said James. "Let Cedric and Lyra duel."

"Ten points from Ravenclaw," Snape said immediately.

"Oho," said Professor Lockhart, "now that's something a little more exciting! Mr. Diggory, Miss Malfoy?"

The two shrugged and got up on the stage, facing each other from twenty or so feet away. A thrill of excitement went through Hermione. She wondered if her admiration of Lyra would be dashed or reinforced.

Cedric settled into his position, and Lyra — Lyra didn't really do anything. She just stood there, wand held loosely in her hand, her stance casual, almost bored. As far as Hermione knew, the two had never dueled. She didn't know if Lyra regularly dueled _anyone_.

" _Stupe —_ " yelled Cedric, the first to cast, but he stopped halfway through for some reason. He didn't seem sure why himself. " _Incarc_ —" But again, it was as if his mind had stalled halfway through.

Hermione's first thought was the Confundus Charm, but Lyra's wand hadn't even twitched. Maybe Lyra had learned to cast it without wand movements, as many skilled wizards can do with any spell.

Cedric gave a petulant face. " _Lyra_."

"What?" said Lyra innocently, giving a light shrug. "Did you forget the incantations?"

Cedric tried again, this time without a verbal incantation, but Hermione could tell he was blocked _again_. He turned to Professor Snape, who was watching Lyra with sharp eyes.

"Professor!" said Cedric. "She can't use Legilimency, can she?"

"An opponent capable of such will not play fair," said Professor Snape, eyes not leaving Lyra, "but for this demonstration, I'm inclined to agree. Miss Malfoy, keep your mind to yourself. Do not interfere with Mr. Diggory's thoughts. It is not only considered very rude," he said, sounding like he wanted to roll his eyes, "but also against school rules."

Lyra shrugged again, unbothered. "Was just showing the kids one of the ways to block spells." And without waiting a beat she twitched her wand, something white bolting out of its end so quickly that even though Cedric dodged, his shirt was still singed from where it passed. "On your toes, Cedric," she said lightly.

It was clear to anyone watching that she could have ended the duel right then and there, but hadn't so as to keep it going.

" _Petrificus Totalus_!" said Cedric, jabbing his wand forward. Then another spell shot out after, wordlessly, and Lyra side-stepped both and flung some spell at him, the orange light zigzagging so jaggedly that Cedric hesitated three different times before it finally clashed with his Shield Charm along with the other four spells Lyra had cast in the time.

"Well done!" said Professor Lockhart, seeming impressed himself. "See how Mr. Diggory hesitated —"

But he was cut off as Cedric shot several spells at Lyra, his wand swishing so swiftly it was a blur —

Yet none of the spells needed to be blocked by a Shield Charm; they all dissipated halfway, one after another. Cedric frowned, clearly frustrated that he couldn't even land a hit, and cast some spell so powerful that Hermione's hairs on her arms stood on end. It blew past them, slower than his earlier spells but certainly more devastating.

Rather than dissolving the spell, Lyra slashed her wand through the air and turned sideways, narrowing herself as much as possible. The spell, it seemed, had been cut in half, just enough to let her slip between the two parts of it.

Hermione and all the other students her age were amazed, both at Cedric's powerful spells and Lyra's casual avoidance of them. She didn't even know you could cut spells in half like that.

Then Lyra made a spiralling movement with her wand, immediately throwing Cedric on the defensive, and some glowing-blue helix was blown toward Cedric's feet. It landed right in front of him with the physics of a rope, and before they could wonder what the purpose was — Lyra pointed her wand upward and slashed it down hard, as if wanting to hit a fly out of the air, and —

Hermione screamed. The ceiling broke apart, as if a heavy boulder had been thrown on top of it, and it came plummeting down on top of Cedric who widened his eyes as he dove and conjured a Shield Charm simultaneously. Even Narcissa made a small gasp.

But the heavy rocks fell right through Cedric, and the stage and the ground; and Hermione looked up and saw the ceiling was intact and it had been nothing but an illusion. And when she looked back down, Cedric was already wrapped in that glowing blue rope Lyra had conjured, having dove right on top of it — as Lyra had planned.

Hermione was the first to clap, and most of the room soon joined in.

"And she says I'm too flashy," said James, enjoying watching Cedric squirm on the ground.

"Well, it's a different kind of flashy," said Hermione, having to speak louder than the applause. "Hers are too, but they're subtle and misleading."

"Yes, well done indeed!" said Lockhart.

"Ten points from Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff," said Snape, seeming annoyed. "For showing off."

"Oh, come now," said Lockhart, laughing. "That was a wondrous display!"

"Wondrous and useless to the students who need the knowledge," drawled Snape. "They cannot, yet at any rate, defend themselves in such a manner. Legilimency is an immensely difficult skill to learn; splitting spells requires fine precision and more power than required to block the same spell with a Shield Charm; the same would apply to Dispelling. A simpler path would be best for them now, I think, until —"

"Oh, nonsense!" said Lockhart, causing one of Snape's eyes to twitch. "Now they've seen what more advanced duels look like. Well, back to your pairs, everyone! Go on, keep practicing."

Snape looked as though he was sincerely planning Lockhart's murder.

The room got busy again with spellfire, but Hermione decided to sit it out this time, as did the others. Harry, Ron, and Cedric talked amongst themselves and James seemed to be stuck in his own thoughts again, his brow furrowed.

"You're a better duelist than I was at your age," said Mrs. Malfoy to Lyra. "I'm quite proud of you, dear. Though, again," she said as Lyra's lip twitched with satisfaction, "do not let it get to your head."

Lyra's face went flat.

"And you, James," said Mrs. Malfoy, turning to him. "Keep at it, dear, and you'll best Severus one day."

James' frown faded, and he smiled genuinely at the empty space Mrs. Malfoy stood.


	7. 1993, June

_1993, June_

James resisted the urge to slam his head against the desk.

The desk in question was probably the nicest one of its kind that the Room of Requirement could offer. Upon it sat several tomes that had been summoned from the Hogwarts library.

Lyra preferred to sneak into the Restricted Section; James preferred to stay in the comfort of the Come and Go Room to avoid Pince, the old crone, even if it meant he didn't have access to the Restricted Section's catalogue. He dropped his most recent tome, a dusty old thing, on the desk with a thump. Useless.

He dug his fingernails into his scalp, wishing the headache would leave. He could feel his head throb in synchronicity with his heartbeats, the rushing of blood through his ears. He'd tried both magical and muggle painkillers, but nothing seemed to get it to stop.

He idly took another book, then put it back down, rubbing the dust between his fingers and thumb. He waved in the general direction of the book, using a weak Banishing Charm to send the decades-old dust flying off it.

After a halfhearted inspection of the abstract, he replaced the book on the pile and sighed. Elbows on the table and his head cradled in his hands, he dearly wished for this damnable headache to abate. In his moment of suffering, a soft _pop_ echoed through the room.

"Does Master Stark be wanting somethings else?" asked Dobby, placing an ice-pack wrapped in a tea-towel on the desk.

Rather than some ragged pillowcase, Dobby was dressed in a sharp outfit that Lyra had tailored specifically for him. He looked a little like a concierge in a high-end hotel. It had taken some prompting for him to accept it; only after Lyra insisted that the uniform was being _lent_ to him, rather than freely given.

"Thank you," James murmured. "A glass of water, if you would."

"Right away, Master Stark."

Dobby disappeared and reappeared in a heartbeat, returning with a glass of water. James murmured his thanks as the House-Elf disappeared once more, mentally thanking Lyra for access to one. While he usually made a habit of taking care of himself and his own belongings, Dobby was a godsend in times like these.

James leaned back in the solid oak chair, taking a sip of the water. It was chilled but not ice-cold, refreshing but not enough to give him brain-freeze. He pressed the ice-pack to his forehead and closed his eyes, a soft sigh of relief escaping his lips.

As he sunk down into the chair, surprisingly comfortable despite the lack of padding, his mind turned to the topic of the little, seemingly innocuous black book sitting on the corner of the table in front of him. It was leatherbound, the slightly browned pages stitched together, still solid despite the years it had seen. On the inside, there was a faint transcription that read 'T.M. Riddle.'

That thing had to go.

They were nearing the end of the year now. The Scotland climate had gotten warm enough that students began swapping out their winter robes for the thinner and lighter summer ones, and the end of school was in sight. People chatted excitedly about their plans over the summer holidays, while O.W.L. and N.E.W.T. students worried about their upcoming exams.

And since Christmas, complaints about James' behavior had been flooding in. At first he dismissed them, thinking he was in the right. Then, he realized, that was exactly what Tom wanted him to think.

To be affected to this degree was unacceptable. According to his own journal, James had not made any suspicious movements, nor did he have lapses in his memory. Despite that, he was clearly being affected — more like Ron under the influence of the Locket, rather than the Diary in canon, but it was clearly there.

He had been lying to Lyra, too. She was under the impression that he had barely touched the Diary. Part of him was annoyed that she hadn't figured out the lie; wasn't it obvious? Maybe not. Ginny hadn't shown this change of mood. There were no attacks. She had zero reason to believe the Diary was affecting him like this.

She had confronted him about his attitude some months ago, but he had simply told her that the loss of his original family was getting to him, that he was having difficulty advancing in some of his studies, and that he was having a bit of an existential crisis. She dealt with that anxiety too, after all; being tossed into a fictional world was utterly surreal, and the both of them still wondered at times if any of it _was_ real.

The sensation of having his skull railway spiked startled him out of his thoughts, spilling half of his water onto his shirt in the process. He ground his teeth and clutched his head in one hand while peeling the soggy surface of his shirt from his skin with the other.

He didn't restrain himself this time, and slammed his head against the desk. When that didn't work, he did it again, but he barely felt the minor pain, so great was that headache. It had spread from behind his eyes to all over his skull, and it felt like it was leaking into his spine and into his body. Just as he thought that, his left arm jerked violently; the _crunch_ that followed barely registered until he noticed the slight, fiery pain in his hand.

He slowly opened his eyes. His blood, diluted with cold water, rolled off the edge of the desk and dripped soundlessly to the floor. The glass had shattered, some larger pieces and some smaller. James sighed, full of annoyance and frustration, and hurled the ice-pack to some uncharted corner of the Room of Requirement with whatever force he could muster while still sitting. He used his free hand to pick out the glass embedded in his hand even as the headache returned with full force. Then he grabbed his wand angrily and vanished the damn shards.

He shouldn't have thrown that fucking ice-pack. He raised his hand, and the object of his attention flew eagerly back to him.

James faltered, then gasped —

The ice-pack missed where James' hand used to be, forgotten on its course. James clutched his head in his hands, one side smeared with blood, as he tried to regain his breath. He felt as if he'd received a powerful blow to his gut which knocked the air from his lungs. He shakily stood up, only for the world to swim around him, and he felt an irrational desire to throw up; he hadn't eaten anything in the past twenty-four hours.

He grasped the corner of the desk, glaring hatefully at the Diary.

" _You_ ," he hissed with barely-concealed rage, rage that James had never felt before in either of his lives, and with a roar, hurled the black-bound book at the wall. The pain redoubled and James fell to his knees, the fabric of his trousers scraping against the unyielding stone.

 _I have to destroy it_ , came his thoughts, unbidden. _The Killing Curse? No, I've never tried that spell before; there's no guarantee it would work._

That left only one choice.

 _Basilisk venom_.

A small part of his mind pleaded with the greater whole to stop this madness; he was in no condition to destroy a full-grown basilisk. It would be a challenge to a team of specially trained adults, so why would James, a single student, stand a chance?

He ruthlessly crushed the mental resistance and Summoned the Diary back into his hand. His blood dripped onto the Diary and was promptly absorbed, leaving the diary perfectly dry. He strode out of the Room of Requirement, the shock of every step making the pain flare through his skull.

He needed to go to Myrtle's bathroom. If he remembered correctly, that would be on the third floor. The entrance, however, would be sealed; James didn't speak Parseltongue. He would… he would need to find someone who did. And wasn't that convenient? There was one person he knew — one person everyone seemed to know — that could speak Parseltongue. The protagonist of this story.

Even as he marched to Gryffindor tower, an irrational hatred for the protagonist began to bubble up through his mind. It was all his fault, wasn't it? He was the reason James was stuck on this — _Hell_ , for what else could it be? The reason James had been torn from all those he loved and the world that he found familiar, thrown into the past and into the other side of the world, with a pair of parents that conceived him on accident and were, accordingly, distant. If not for discovering his first bouts of accidental magic when he was four, he might have very well gone through with that plan of hanging himself in his room, with weights attached to his ankles so that it'd go all the more smoothly.

Harry Potter.

The Boy-Who-Lived.

 _His fault_.

James snarled in a way that caused disgust at himself to rise up. And even if Harry had no hand in James' sudden reincarnation, James himself was a fraud, wasn't he? Masquerading as a genius when, in truth, he had merely experienced everything before. He'd not even been particularly exceptional the last time around, so he'd sought to soothe his ego by pretending. Hatred for Harry. Hatred for himself. Raw, undiluted hatred for whatever being that dropped him into this world.

And _Lyra_. She had known immediately where she was, having been born into the Malfoy family. She didn't understand. She herself wanted to be the damn protagonist, what with her plans of taking over the world... always so insecure with the idea of being something insignificant. If they had just gone to Dumbledore in the first place, he wouldn't be in this mess. But no, she had to have it her way.

Then he shook his head. He _needed_ Lyra. He was too frightened to go to Dumbledore, but Lyra could help — she'd know what to do. Or the Diary might take control of her, too. Maybe she'd go to Dumbledore; maybe he'd be expelled.

What the fuck did she know anyway? She hadn't learned much wandless magic, like he had; she wasn't an Animagus; she'd only this year mastered the Patronus; and she couldn't even figure out how to use the stupid Stone she had stolen.

And what kind of friend was she? She didn't even care enough to pay attention to him, to see he was hurting.

James stopped, walked to the wall, and bashed his skull against it.

" _Fuck you_ ," he hissed, to the Riddle in his head.

These were not his thoughts. These were not his thoughts. He needed this truth, he needed to hold onto this truth, and if he did, Riddle wouldn't be able to touch him.

 _But that's not the truth, is it?_ asked his own voice, in his mind. _You_ are _a fraud. Following in Lockhart's footsteps, pretending to be better than you are_.

"Fuck you!"

" _Excuse_ me?" said the Fat Lady, glaring with disapproval.

"Not talking to you," James said with a snarl that made the two-dimensional woman flinch. "Open the door. I need someone inside."

"You're not a Gryffindor," she said, as if offended.

James smiled sharply. "But I'm looking for a Gryffindor, you see. I'd _greatly_ appreciate if you could open this door."

"You look like you're here to cause trouble," the Fat Lady said warily, and with a small hint of fear.

The wariness in her tone stoked James' irritation like oil on flame, while the hint of fear created a spark of jubilation that rapidly grew, threatening to eat away all his frustration. He grinned, which really didn't help the Fat Lady regain her composure.

James knew he wasn't like this. No matter his many flaws, sadism wasn't one of them.

He slammed his Occlumency shields into place, and was rewarded with a sensation like liquid nitrogen flowing over his skin. He gasped at the sudden transition in his mental state, but his headache intensified to the point he could barely keep the shield up.

"Please," he asked again, this time in ragged desperation. "I need help."

"I'm fetching a professor," the Fat Lady said, and hurried out of the portrait. James' already stretched Occlumency barrier cracked, and he punched the portrait as hard as he could.

 _I'll do it myself. I'll let Riddle take over, and_ —

No! That was _insanity_. That way lay death and suffering, all it was —

_Inaction gets me nowhere; I may as well sign away my soul to Riddle. He's the most powerful Legilimens in the world. Even as a teenager, he'd eventually subsume my mind if I didn't destroy the Diary._

_So I should let him willingly compromise me instead?_

_I might have a chance this way. If I do nothing… my destruction is certain_.

That made chills run down his spine. His previous death — whatever that might have been — had led to reincarnation. But this… this fate was worse than death. To be a spectator in one's own body, to see it twisted and mangled beyond repair, stitched together by dark magic and razor wire, to see the parasite indulge in self-destructive behavior in pursuit of perfection, in pursuit of godhood.

 _Terminus_.

James ran.

His vision swam, and more than once he stumbled, but he needed to get that damn basilisk venom. He needed to get rid of that damnable Diary before it consumed him. He couldn't get rid of it any other way — it would return to him otherwise, there was no doubt. Despite his wishes, he and the Diary were conjoined now by fate.

He had been an idiot. A gigantic, colossal, absolute fucking idiot. He should've never written in the thing. He had, and now Riddle was actively hammering at his shields, trying to take the reins, knowing that if he didn't take over James _now_ , he would be destroyed. And if James didn't succeed in this mission, he would _end_. He would become a footnote in his own mind as Riddle tore his consciousness into pieces like some savage beast tearing at their prey. His knowledge, his memories, his fears and desires, all of it would be _consumed_ , and James Stark would, simply put, _cease to exist_.

He needed to think quickly. What were the weaknesses of the basilisk—?

 _Nothing I can reach in time_ , he thought. _Nothing in the school that can harm a basilisk._

Within his mind, he saw a fleeting glance of a giant, man-shaped silhouette. Being in pain as he was, and the fear of extinction echoing endlessly, he dismissed the thought and instead rushed to his destination.

"Who're you?" said a familiar feminine voice.

Familiar?

James ignored them and grabbed the edges of the sink, staring into the almost hypnotic snake-shaped tap.

"I don't get many visitors," the voice continued. "Nobody wants to visit poor little —"

" _Leave_!" roared James, sending an indiscriminate Banishing Charm in their general direction. The owner of the voice squeaked in fright as abandoned stalls shuddered and creaked. The voice did not bother him anymore, and James glared at the little ornamental snake.

"Open," he muttered, and to his shock, the ornament twisted.

A portal opened to what he could only describe as Tartarus.

How did the entrance open? James didn't speak Parseltongue. He'd had staring contests with snakes in zoos for hours when he learned of his identity as a wizard, wondering if he had some exotic ancestry, all to no avail. So how did —?

As the edges of his vision darkened, as dark as the Entrance to the Underworld before him, beginning to trap James in his own mind, he realized he had never been in control this whole time.

 _Fuck you_ , James spat at Riddle, and he hated how afraid his own voice, within his own mind, sounded.

* * *

James awoke.

He groaned and clutched his head. While the headache from before was gone, it still hurt like hell, and he could feel a bump on the side of his head, like he'd hit something — or like he'd fallen. He flexed his hands; one responded with a sharp pain, and he opened his eyes fractionally to examine it. It was covered in blood.

His shirt was almost white from the amount of dust he was covered in. And there was a strange sound, one he thought was his imagination until now. He massaged his temple... It definitely wasn't a hallucination. Like a thousand rusty chains scraping against the floor, it made his hairs stand on end. He slowly opened his eyes again, feeling the sting in his brain as light, faint as it was, struck his retinas.

Then he closed his eyes again as tightly as he could, blood draining from his face.

"Oh," he said numbly, as a fifty-foot serpent slithered in the dark in front of him.

He splayed the fingers of his right hand, and after an agonizingly long moment, his wand burst from one of the pools in the Chamber of Secrets and smacked into his palm, the warm buzz of magic providing some small comfort in the face of reality.

 _Riddle_.

Tom Riddle, for all of James' precautions, had taken over him.

James swallowed through his constricted throat, keeping his eyes closed.

 _Don't look_.

He couldn't die here. If he died here, he'd inflict Tom Riddle on the wizarding world. Tom Riddle, who would eventually be spoken in hushed whispers, his name forever tabooed under pain of death or torture.

James couldn't give up. No, James Stark would kill the beast, and turn its deadly venom onto its own master. Tom Riddle would die by his hand —

 _No_.

The Diary was in none of James' pockets. He double-checked — triple-checked.

" _No_ ," he whispered. " _No, no, no. This can't be happening_."

He briefly wondered if snakes could feel fear. He sincerely hoped not.

James slid into a dueling stance anyway, and prepared to face death itself.

* * *

Luna was sitting quietly doing her homework when the door to the Ravenclaw tower burst open. A first year that had been leaving was flung to the ground. Lyra Malfoy leapt through the entrance, a look of fear upon her face. Luna sat straight up; she had never seen Lyra scared before — never.

What Lyra had done didn't even seem to register to her, looks of annoyance and outrage missing her notice entirely. She sprinted toward the dorm tower, shoving past Roger Davies just as he opened his mouth, leaving him gaping stupidly.

Luna collected her homework and books and put them carefully but quickly into her bag, flung it around her shoulder, and followed Lyra up the stairs, wondering what could have put her in such a state. As she made her way steadily up the stairs, she could hear Victoria Clearwater yelling about something. She gently shouldered the door to the fourth years' dorm open and peeked inside.

" _Malfoy_ , I _said_ , what are you —"

" _Will you just fuck off_?" hissed Lyra with a fury in her voice Luna didn't think was possible. Luna almost hesitated in entering, wondering if that rage would be directed at her too.

"I was here first, you _bitch_!" snapped Victoria, her face turning pink. "All I was doing was minding my own business and now you have to make a mess of everything and yell at me for it? You know, I'm up to _here_ with your —"

But that was as far as she got before she was wandlessly flung to the other side of the dorm, slamming into the wall and sliding down, Silenced and bound in bed curtains that had come alive to ensnare her. She writhed in them, livid and looking as though she was screaming terrible things, though nothing could be heard.

Lyra turned back around to her trunk, ignoring her, and Luna slunk into the room.

"Lyra?" she said quietly, and Victoria stopped her struggling to look at her, eyes wide as if to ask for help. Luna ignored her too. "Are you okay?"

Lyra didn't stop throwing things out of her trunk, cursing under her breath as she searched for something. Then she let out a breath of relief as she reached so deep within that her feet momentarily lifted off the ground. Pulling her upper half out of the trunk, she raised a little black book.

" _Finally_ ," breathed Lyra, falling to the ground as she opened it.

"What's that?" asked Luna, peering over the older girl's shoulder, but Lyra ignored her.

Instead, she took a quill from the ground and opened the first page. Then, Summoning an inkpot to her side, she wrote something in it and waited. Luna wasn't sure what Lyra had been expecting, or what she herself was expecting, but it wasn't Lyra paling.

"All of this for a bloody diary?" Victoria asked, the Silencing Charm cancelled. Luna glanced at her. She had her wand in her hand, her face slightly red from her recent humiliation, and while the wand remained pointed at the ground, she was tense like a coiled spring, almost _daring_ Lyra to attack her again. " _Hey_ , Malfoy, I —"

"Put that wand down, you silly girl," whispered Lyra, staring down at the journal still. "Don't make me hurt you."

Victoria's lips thinned. "One day," she said, her voice wavering slightly. "One day you're not going to be able to just — just do _whatever you want_."

Lyra remained silent as Victoria stormed out of the room, slamming the door on the way.

"What's wrong with it?" said Luna.

Lyra only sat there, shaking her head as if in denial.

"It's a fake," she said faintly. As if other horrible realizations were coming to her, she paled further — which was something, considering Lyra had always been paler than most, no matter how much time she spent in the sun.

Before Luna could ask any more questions, she leapt to her feet and was out the door. Luna attempted to follow her, but couldn't figure out which way she had gone. She went down to the common room to ask someone if Lyra had passed through, but before she could even do that, Lyra came sprinting down the stairs leading up to the boys' dormitory. Her cheeks were red from exertion, but it was clear from her wide eyes that she was still terrified of something.

"Lyra —" began Luna, but was cut off as Lyra held her wand up and conjured some wordless spell. She looked around the common room, as if expecting something to leap into her hand. Then she was running out the room, dragging Luna with her.

"Luna, listen very carefully," she said quietly but with intensity as they moved into the empty hallway. "That black book is a very important artifact — very important and very dangerous. If you ever see anyone with anything like it, you need to tell me immediately — but _do_ _not_ try to pick it up yourself."

"What does it do?" Luna asked with some trepidation.

Lyra got down on one knee in front of her and held her shoulders. "It contains the soul of something evil. If you ever come across it..." She ran her hands down to Luna's own and clasped them. "Do not write in it. Do not touch it. You come find me immediately. Do you understand?"

Luna stared into Lyra's ice-blue eyes, and then nodded.

"Good girl," said Lyra, smiling — though it was clear it was forced. "There's something I need to do now."

"Is it dangerous?" Luna asked as Lyra stood. "Let me help."

Lyra looked down at her, and for a moment she seemed taller somehow, as if a glimpse of the might of her future self was present. Luna blinked.

"Go grab your dragon-hide gloves," said Lyra, "and then wait by Moaning Myrtle's bathroom."

Luna didn't wait. She rushed to her room, ignoring the whispers aimed her way by her roommates, and retrieved her gloves.

"What are those for, Looney?" said Jessica. "Did you need remedial Herbology lessons?"

"Something like that," said Luna, not looking her way as she walked back toward the door. "Only, Lyra is teaching me. Would you like me to tell her you're interested too?"

Luna didn't stop to see Jessica's reaction. She made her way down to the second floor, perhaps a little quicker than she'd normally walk. A few of the hungrier students were going down for supper, but for the most part, the corridor was empty and quiet. And five minutes later, Lyra appeared, dragging Harry Potter behind her.

"Into the bathroom," she said.

"Wait," Harry said. "That's a _girls'_ bathroom."

But Lyra shoved him in anyway. "It's abandoned, relax."

The bathroom was indeed abandoned. A thin layer of dust was present on the porcelain sinks and the mirrors were quite grimy. Lyra began inspecting the taps — until she paused.

"Harry, come here," she said. "Tell this sink to open."

"Uh —"

"Just, _please_ , tell it to open," said Lyra. "It needs a Parselmouth — someone who can speak to snakes. This is Salazar Slytherin's secret, and I know you can talk to them."

Harry frowned. "How did you know—?"

"Because I saw you talk to that snake at the zoo with your relatives," snapped Lyra. Then she closed her eyes and sighed. "Harry, please."

"You were there?" said Harry, blinking in surprise. Then, when Lyra glared and gestured wildly toward the sink, he said, "Okay, okay..."

He awkwardly bent over the silver snake and _hissed_. It was a grotesque sound that had Luna wincing. However, Harry's words triggered some sort of magic that peeled away the porcelain and dirty mirrors and revealed a dark hole.

"I didn't bring a broom for you, Luna," said Lyra. "I guess you'll be riding piggyback on me."

"Okay," Luna said easily.

Lyra and Harry unshrunk their brooms, and Luna climbed onto the back of Lyra's, wrapping her arms around her midsection. Lyra kicked off the ground and descended into the darkness.

The journey felt like it stretched to eternity.

When they finally reached the bottom of the pipe, Luna could hear rushing water in the far distance. Perhaps it might have been the noise from the drainage system, but it could also very well be the Black Lake itself, if they were underneath it.

The Lake was supposed to be deep, deep enough that at its lowest points no light reached the bottom. Considering how long this journey took, it wouldn't have surprised her if they were below the Lake anyway.

"Is — what'd you call it, Parselmouthing?" said Harry. "Is it rare?"

"You're a Parselmouth, and what you do is speak Parseltongue," said Lyra. "And yes, it's rare. And isn't viewed in the best light, so I'd keep that particular ability to yourself. Ask Dumbledore about it if you want."

Then they came upon a massive door, carved from dark stone that seemed to drink up the light that left their wand-tips. On it were intertwining snakes, arranged in geometric patterns far too complex to have been created by any sane mind; snakes eating snakes eating snakes, all the way to infinity, and it made Luna's head hurt just staring at it. Their eyes, their red garnet eyes, glittered with malevolent promise.

Luna shivered, and it wasn't because of the cold.

Harry hissed again, and the snakes unraveled soundlessly. Even as Luna expected to hear the dull grinding of stone against stone, all she heard was the continuous dripping of water from long-forgotten copper pipes onto weathered stone tiles.

The last snake slid out of their path, and the door opened. Lyra grabbed both her and Harry and pushed them to the wall.

"Close your eyes and stay here," she said, and her tone beckoned zero argument. Before Harry could protest, she disappeared into whatever lay beyond the door.

There was a worrying silence that lasted far too long for Luna's comfort.

"You can come now," came Lyra's distant voice.

Through the doorway was a great chamber, with many tall pillars and a ceiling so high that Luna couldn't see the top, even with Lyra's floating balls of light illuminating a path to her. And beyond Lyra's form was the corpse of the largest snake Luna had ever seen.

From snout to tail, it was probably longer than most dragons. She couldn't see its tail, as Lyra's lights seemed to struggle against the darkness of the chamber.

"What is this place?" said Harry weakly.

"The Chamber of Secrets," said Lyra grimly, her back to them as she stared at the serpent. "I'm sure Hermione will tell you all about it."

Luna approached the carcass in wonder. The light reflected against the scales: black and glossy like obsidian, with an emerald hue derived from what looked like thousands of glittering green galaxies embedded in the volcanic glass.

"Is this why James is in the hospital wing?" Harry said, following Luna's lead.

"Yeah," said Lyra, stepping up to the serpent's gaping maw. "It's a basilisk. It's a miracle James even managed to kill it."

"What's a —?"

"Ask Hermione."

Lyra knelt and pulled a small object from her pocket, and tapped it with a wand, restoring it to its original size. It was a wooden box with patterns decorated in gold thread; when opened, it revealed the inside to be made entirely of what looked like pure gold. Lyra noticed Luna staring.

"Gold is one of the few materials in the world that is resistant to basilisk venom," she said, answering their unspoken question.

"You want to harvest the venom from this thing?" Harry said as Lyra pulled out some test tubes, the inside also inlaid with gold.

"Basilisk venom is incredibly destructive," said Lyra, and then she pulled out a small, ornamental silver dagger from a pocket and unsheathed it. "It can render things beyond magical repair, something rather rare."

Luna hesitantly approached, not getting too close in fear of the deadly venom. She saw the serpent's eyes had been utterly destroyed, and the inside of its mouth was torn to shreds as well.

Lyra placed the dagger underneath one of the basilisk's fangs, which were at least as long as Luna's forearm, wickedly sharp. The venom quite literally _sizzled_ along the blade. But as far as Luna could tell, the dagger was undamaged.

"Is that goblin-silver?" Luna asked.

"Yes," said Lyra, slowly placing the dagger back into its sheath. "Goblin-wrought silver takes in what makes it stronger... So this dagger can now kill someone with just a nick, within minutes." Then Lyra held it out to Harry. "Take it."

"What?" said Harry, startled. "No — you just said it could kill with a small cut —"

" _So keep it in its sheath_ ," said Lyra. "Listen, this dagger is beyond value now. Basilisks aren't common. The last one seen in Britain was hundreds of years ago. And you, Harry, have the most evil and powerful dark wizard of all time after you." She got up and grabbed Harry's hand, placing the dagger into it, and looked into his eyes. "It's just in case."

"I'm putting it in my trunk," said Harry immediately.

"Okay."

"Deep down at the bottom."

A smile broke through Lyra's tense face.

"As you should, Harry," she said, "as you should." Then she pulled out two other daggers and repeated the process. "One for me, and one for James — though he'll probably accidentally kill himself with it..." After the daggers were imbued with the venom, she snapped off a fang and let the venom fall into the golden vials, Luna holding them steady with her dragon-hide gloves. "I'll probably accidentally kill myself one day too," she murmured. "All the more reason for you to have a back up, Harry."

Luna was glad she wasn't offered one. She didn't want to hold onto a dangerous thing like that. Even holding the vials was nerve-racking. Her parents had also mentioned that such casual displays of wealth should be punishable by cannibalism. Or something like that.

"Right," said Lyra as she finished and closed the box. "That's that."

"Why were you so desperate to get all this?" said Harry, frowning.

Lyra looked at him, then around at the darkness. "I was hoping to find something else down here too." She handed the wooden box to Luna and pulled out the black book from earlier. "See this?" she said to Harry. "This is a duplicated fake of a very real and very dark artifact. It's what got James into this mess." She tossed it at him. "Show it to Hermione and Ron, so they know what it looks like, and then keep an eye out for it. It's missing, and —"

"And...?" said Harry, opening the journal and looking through its blank pages.

"It's something that belonged to sixteen-year-old Tom Riddle," said Lyra finally. "Tom Riddle is Lord Voldemort's real name."

Harry looked up sharply.

"His diary — the real one?" she continued. "It's capable of possessing people. I thought — I thought James had been using it sparingly, but I didn't think —" She sighed. "Basilisk venom — and now these daggers — they're capable of destroying such things like that. Not much else can."

"Why would James do that?" said Harry harshly. "Did he know what it was?"

Lyra grimaced. "Riddle... Riddle has a lot of knowledge, Harry. And you know he's still out there. I think the mess with Quirrell spooked him and he wanted to find out more... just in case."

Harry touched where he had put his dagger in his robes. "Just in case..."

"And now the diary is missing?" said Luna, worried.

"I've tried Summoning it," said Lyra, throwing a frustrated arm up. "In my dorm, in his, down here — it's not popping up. If anyone else has it..."

"They'll be possessed," said Harry.

"If they write in it enough." Lyra ran her fingers through her hair. "So keep an eye out for it. If you notice anyone acting odd, more emotional than usual, looking like they didn't get enough sleep — whatever — then come tell me. Okay, you two?"

Harry and Luna both nodded.

"Harry, repeat what I just told you to Hermione and Ron. And I'll have to let my brother know as well," she said. "All right, let's get out of here. I'm starting to feel cold."

As they walked back out in the direction they came from, Luna gave one last look at the basilisk. Slowly, the serpent became swallowed in darkness once more, and as it did, Luna could not help but find the awe-inspiring sight a mere mockery of what it had been before. Once they walked far enough, the basilisk disappeared entirely, to be forgotten until another lucky Parselmouth stumbled upon this location. It was somewhat depressing to think that even a monarch as mighty as this would be long-forgotten in their death.

"You two can head on back after we get back up," said Lyra as she pulled out her broom again. "I need to go do some other things too."

"Like what?" said Luna curiously.

Lyra threw a leg over her broom and helped Luna on.

"You know, destroy an ancient heirloom of immense cultural significance, threaten a world-famous adventurer into retirement, and make sure James doesn't get me thrown in Azkaban."

* * *

James' eyes snapped open.

He felt… good. Better than he'd ever been. More than if he took a fourteen-hour nap, he felt _refreshed_.

Unfortunately, his ribs hurt like hell, and he winced as he tried to sit up.

"You may wish to lay back down," said a voice. "It was deemed easier to regrow your bones than heal them. Poppy mentioned your bones wouldn't be fully reconstructed until morning."

James looked to his side, where the Headmaster was sitting in a high-backed armchair with a frankly ugly tartan print on it. He glanced down at himself. He'd never had to stay overnight in the Hospital Wing before.

"Should you even be here?"

"Poppy is asleep, and so is everyone else in the wing," Dumbledore said mildly. "I've cast a Muffling Charm around us to keep quiet. Now, how are you feeling, James?"

"Good," James said honestly. "Much better than I have any right to be."

"Indeed. That is likely to do with Fawkes."

The phoenix trilled from the bedside table, and James whipped his head around to look at him. The bird in question hopped over to his side, and James felt a nearly tangible warmth flow over him.

"Thank you, Fawkes," said James, lying his head back down.

Dumbledore hummed.

"Could I trouble you for some water, sir?" James asked.

Wordlessly, Dumbledore conjured a tall glass from nothing, and water flowed from the tip of his wand into the hovering glass. Then it floated lazily towards James, who took it from the air and drank in small sips.

James felt awkward as the old man simply stared at him, his chin on his interlocked fingers. While he loved Dumbledore like a favored grandfather, right now he exuded little of the familiarity and warmth that made him approachable. He was currently detached, almost clinical in his expression, and that frightened James more than anything else he could imagine.

"I suppose you want to talk to me about what happened, sir," said James finally.

"I would."

"Are you angry at me?" said James before he could stop himself. He felt his face burn and turned his eyes away from Dumbledore.

"I try not to be," he said, "until I have heard the full story."

James fidgeted with the sheets, twisting it around his fingers.

"I was told of a diary," said Dumbledore.

"Right..." said James. "Tom Riddle's diary."

Dumbledore's eyes were piercing. "Where did you acquire it?"

"Lyra did. From her dad," James said quietly. "He tried to give it to Ginny Weasley, so Lyra took it from her... We weren't sure what it was at first, but Lyra doesn't trust her dad. I took it from Lyra to study it."

"Look at me, please," said Dumbledore. James had to force himself to meet Dumbledore's eyes. "Did you know its significance before you wrote in it?"

James quickly turned away. "Are you reading my mind, Professor?"

"I don't need to read anyone's mind, James. I've dealt with problematic students for much of my life."

James winced at being called problematic. Still unable to meet his eyes, James spoke. "Yes."

"You knew of its significance before you wrote in it."

"The Diary told me," said James quietly, bending the truth a little. "It told me immediately it was Tom Riddle."

Dumbledore sighed out of his nose and leaned back into his chair. James felt his eyes sting, his face burn, his throat constrict.

"I took precautions," he forced himself to say. "I practiced Occlumency over the summer. I made sure my movements were logged. I'm still not sure how it even happened."

"I've heard as much from Miss Malfoy," Dumbledore said. "But it was still _exceedingly_ foolish of you. I suspect you know what Tom Riddle would eventually become, what he was capable of."

James couldn't answer, only grasped his sheets with a white-knuckled grip.

"What prompted you to do this, James?" said Dumbledore, his tone gentle but nonetheless disappointed.

James could not answer. He sat rigidly, in uncomfortable silence, hoping that the tears wouldn't fall. Dumbledore waited. After a minute or two of silence, he sighed and made to stand up.

"I should like to speak to you in my office once you have healed," he said. "We can discuss your punishment then."

"I just wanted to know more about magic," said James, and Dumbledore stopped in his tracks.

"You wanted to know more about the kind of magic Tom specialized in?" Dumbledore asked.

James shrugged uncomfortably. "Sure, but I also wanted to learn more about other dimensions, I guess. Magic can do almost anything, as far as I know. But I've never heard much about alternate universes, or the afterlife, reincarnation..."

"If you wanted research on the topic, you could have easily visited the Hogwarts library, one of the largest archives of magical knowledge in Europe. If you'd come to me and explained what you wanted, I'd have been willing to give you a pass for the Restricted Section, not that the lack of one would have stopped you."

"I did visit the library," James said quietly. "This topic was one of the first things I looked up. Including in the Restricted Section. There wasn't much on it besides theories."

"I see," Dumbledore said. "Why does this topic fascinate you so?"

James didn't answer — couldn't answer. The moment stretched, until at last Dumbledore sighed and nodded.

"I understand," he said, and James glanced at him, slightly alarmed. "It is never easy, losing someone you love. It is, unfortunately, something I have dealt with far too often in my long life. Even now, each loss is a blow to the heart. Such tragedy at your age — it is world-shattering."

Dumbledore bent down and put his weathered hand on James' own, and squeezed.

"I am sorry, James," he said, rising back up.

"It doesn't matter what my reasons were," James said numbly. "I probably released a younger Voldemort into the wild. I kept dreaming about students getting _subsumed_ by Riddle, and even after I defeated Riddle's avatar, I'd dream about their parents clutching their catatonic child in their arms…" He took a shuddering breath. "I thought I was experiencing something worse than death, when Riddle took over me. I couldn't wish that on anyone."

Dumbledore was silent, considering, before he spoke.

"You will not go without punishment," he said. "And I think I have the right one for you. I hope that you will rise to the task and learn something of it."

"Yes, sir," James said.

Dumbledore turned and took a few steps to the door, but then he stopped and looked over his shoulder.

"Do not let your guilt consume you," he said. "You are not, after all, the first to let loose something like a Dark Lord."

James hesitated before answering. "Grindelwald."

"I knew him," said Dumbledore quietly, "before all the death and destruction. I could have stopped him then, I think... but I did not. The consequences haunt me to this day."

"Oh," said James.

Dumbledore gave him a small smile, which didn't reach his eyes but was nonetheless meant to comfort. "Tom Riddle is not yet the man known as Voldemort. He is not as knowledgeable nor as experienced. My mistake was far greater than yours could ever hope to be, James. However..." His gaze intensified. "It is crucial that you let me know of anything that could be relevant to this matter. I will look into the Diary's location myself, but if you find out anything, anything at all..."

"I will, sir."

"Good to hear," said Dumbledore, seeming to relax a little. "Now, I think it best you return to sleep. I hope that you will soon feel better."

"Thank you, Professor," James said, shuffling under the sheets.

"Albus," he said, and smiled. "Remember, James, my door is always open to you, should you need someone to talk to."

James smiled back, albeit weakly. Fawkes bumped his head into James' hand like a particularly feathery cat and hopped onto Dumbledore's shoulder as he left. After a minute, he shuffled back into his sheets to try to sleep.

He was startled out of his dreams when Lyra scurried into the Hospital Wing, looking like a disgruntled ferret. She briefly looked around to check nobody else was awake, then sat down on the same stool Dumbledore had previously Transfigured into his armchair. After about three different privacy charms, she turned her tired but satisfied eyes toward him.

"Why are you here?" James asked.

"What, I can't check in to see if my friend's doing well?" she said.

"You usually have an ulterior motive."

Lyra frowned. "I'm not sure if I should be concerned with your lack of faith in me or with my inclination to come off as some kind of unfeeling sociopath."

"The last time I was in the hospitalized, you came to tell me — _gleefully_ — about how you knocked Davies off his broom from thirty feet up with a stray bludger. Before that, you came to tell me that the girl bullying Luna had an 'unfortunate accident' with a faulty Cure for Boils Potion in her shampoo."

"I think the real take-away here is how often you end up in the hospital wing."

"It's only my fault _sometimes_ ," James emphasized.

"Yeah?" said Lyra. "How come I've never been in here?"

"Because you push me in front of spells aimed at you, you little shit."

Lyra laughed, then went to lean back in her chair, only to realize too late it was a stool and she desperately flailed her limbs to keep her balance.

"Anyway," James said slowly, carefully not betraying his amusement, "I've apparently been out for some time. What's been going on?"

"Not much," said Lyra, Transfiguring her stool into a chair. "Freaked out a bit when I heard about you. Went to check on the diary in my trunk, saw the fake diary, freaked out some more. Realized Riddle might be out there, _kept_ freaking out." She tucked her lips in and nodded. "I freaked out, okay?"

"What'd you do?" said James warily.

Lyra shrugged. "Took Harry and Luna down to the Chamber — not sure why I brought her — like I said, I was —"

"Freaking out, yeah."

"I got a bunch of venom — three daggers, one for me, you, and Harry. Then I went to find the Ravenclaw diadem — you know, in case Riddle knew we knew and went after it." Lyra trailed off, in thought.

"And?" said James, impatiently. "Did you find it?"

"Hm?" she said. "Oh, yeah. Tried to destroy it."

"Tried?" said James.

Lyra threw her arms out in disbelief. "Damn thing's made out of goblin-silver!"

He snorted, then saw that Lyra's expression remained unchanged.

"That's _bullshit_."

Lyra shook her head. "Goblin-wrought silver takes in what makes it stronger. Can you believe how lucky Harry and them got? If it hadn't been for the Fiendfyre..."

"We'll have to get Dumbledore to destroy it, then," said James. "I don't trust myself to cast Fiendfyre. Well, not yet, anyway."

Lyra fidgeted and wouldn't look him in the eyes.

" _Do we_ have to get Dumbledore?" she said.

"How else do you plan to remove the icky soul bit?" James asked. "Or have you learned nothing from what I did?"

Lyra held up a hand in defense. "I know, it's incredibly stupid, especially after this — but do you know how _awesome_ it would be to get to use that thing properly, with no soul in it, if it really does make you wiser?"

"Who knows, you might graduate high school this time around."

"I'm thinking I'll just figure out how to remove the bit of soul from it," said Lyra, ignoring him. "Will probably need to find the real Voldemort in Albania and do it there..."

"Just destroy the fucking soul-piece, Lyra, it's not hard to understand."

Lyra held up both her hands in defense this time. "Hey, I was only joking. I just don't know how to explain to Dumbledore, you know, everything. Dunno how else to destroy it either."

"See if you can find a way to transfer the soul-shard into something else. Maybe you can stick his soul into a piece of lingerie before you destroy it. Then, when we record all of this in a book, we can claim Tom Riddle was a deviant."

Giving a low laugh, Lyra tilted her head in consideration.

"Speaking of books," she said idly as they sat in their contentment. "Lockhart's officially retiring."

James frowned. "The Curse strikes again, I see. How'd it happen?"

Lyra smirked. "I _am_ the Curse."

"Oh no."

Her smile grew wider. "I told him I knew his secret, and that if he ever Obliviates another person again — or writes another book, I'll tell the whole world. He tried to Obliviate me, the bastard."

"What'd you do?" said James, sitting up in interest.

"Disarmed him," said Lyra, shrugging. "Didn't even need my wand. You were right, learning wandless magic was a great idea. He now believes five different people know his secret, and if any of us become suddenly forgetful, we all go to the _Daily Prophet_ and he gets thrown into Azkaban."

"Please, nobody's going to believe us. The man's still beloved by everyone not in Hogwarts."

"I actually got the dipshit to blurt out the name of three people he's Obliviated," said Lyra. "Told him I knew one of them, and he just began throwing out names." She shook her head. "Amazing, that man."

"So no more books? You sure he can live without constantly begging everyone for attention?"

"Oh, he can still be famous. I'd prefer it. His support would be invaluable in the future."

James laid his head back down on the pillow. "I can see it. Charity fundraiser hosted by Lyra Malfoy, with guest appearance Gilderoy Lockhart. That'd draw in a crowd."

"Exactly. And you need someone to write the foreword for your adventure novels, too, right?"

"He'd make it all about himself," James groused. "Fuck him. I'll get Old Man Dumbles to write my forewords. Or Harry Potter, depending on how famous he is after all this."

Lyra hummed. "If things go right, there'll be no reason for Harry to be as famous a second time. Anyway, I should let you get some sleep."

"Not gonna yell at me for my idiotic actions?"

"Like nothing I've done could've gone horribly wrong?" James levelled a look at her. "Okay, maybe not that horribly wrong, but I shouldn't have let you use the Diary at all; I just figured, with how many headaches I gave you over the Stone thing... Anyway, I've spent the whole day panicking as it is. I'm just tired now." She sighed. "I'm assuming the Diary is god-knows-where, right? I tried to Summon it from all over the castle, including in the Chamber."

James closed his eyes. "I don't know where it is. Riddle's wiped my memory during… whatever he was doing with me."

Lyra stared at him for a long moment, all humor gone from her eyes.

"So anyone could have it?" she said. "Presumably he didn't just toss it somewhere. He probably picked someone he felt he could take over — probably over the summer."

"I agree. I haven't had much time to think on it because, you know," he said, gesturing to his bed. "But that sounds reasonable. Summer holidays is long enough that he could consolidate control over whomever he's chosen to be his sacrifice."

James wondered what unlucky sod would have to face the most feared wizard in modern history. He swallowed heavily and turned back to Lyra, exhibiting no sign of his inner turmoil.

"We'll need to keep an eye out," she said seriously, maybe more serious than he had ever seen her. "After I leave here, I'm going to visit all the dorms I can. Couldn't find it in Ravenclaw tower, so I'll get Harry, Hermione, or a Weasley to let me into the Gryffindor tower; Cedric for Hufflepuff; and Draco for Slytherin. I've already put Dobby on the search. Luna and Harry know about it, so they'll be on the lookout; and Harry's friends probably will too. I might tell Draco as well."

"He's probably planned for it," said James quietly.

Again, Lyra observed him with that sharp look in her eyes. "Just how much did he see in your mind, James?"

"He didn't have to see anything to —"

"That's not what I mean," she said, cutting him off. "I know he's smart enough to put the Diary somewhere I can't get it, no doubt some trunk with an Anti-Summoning Charm on it. How much did he see, James?"

"I don't know," said James, slumping. "I don't know what he took from me. He might have erased or altered my most prized memories and I wouldn't know it. I want to think he hasn't had enough time to look through everything I remember, but… again, I wouldn't know."

"So, he could know everything, then," said Lyra. "There's a Riddle out there possibly with the knowledge of it all: everything about you, everything you know about me, all our future knowledge, the Horcruxes, Harry — _everything_."

"I know what I did," James said, exhausted. "I'm sorry."

Lyra pursed her lips. "At least your memory of the books is shit." Then she shook her head again, closing her eyes and rubbing her forehead with three fingers. "I gotta go," she said, standing up. "I need to check the houses. Don't — don't sweat it too much, James."

With another sigh, she stood and made her way out of the room, her arms crossed and head lowered. She had said not to sweat it too much, as if it wasn't that big of a deal, but her hesitation spoke for itself.

Since arriving in the Wizarding World, James had felt many different ways about it. This, however, might have been the first time that he felt raw, undiluted hatred. All he wanted was a way home and he ended up possibly freeing Voldemort from his chains, and now hundreds of people might end up dead, or worse.

The door shutting on Lyra's way out felt like a blow to his heart.


	8. 1993, July

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We know this fic started off lighthearted and it's sort of going in the other direction right now, but we still plan to keep humor a large part of this fic going forward. The plot just turned serious somehow. Whoops.

The sun beat on Harry's neck as he worked on Aunt Petunia's garden in the backyard. It was a few weeks into summer and he was already miserable — was on the first day, really.

"Boy!" yelled Uncle Vernon from the door, his face twisted in displeasure. "Someone's come to see you. Get up!"

Sighing, Harry got up, stretching his back, and walked to the house. Inside, he found someone familiar, though it took him a moment to recognize her. Lyra Malfoy sat in Vernon's chair, lounging in it like she owned it; her pale-blonde hair was smooth and straightened for once, and she wore round sunglasses and a black leather jacket. Compared to other wizards he'd seen attempt muggle fashion, she was downright _cool_. Though Harry knew Vernon hated it.

"I've gotta say," said Lyra, lowering her sunglasses to look over them, "this 90's fashion _slaps_."

 _Slaps_ , mouthed Vernon, looking baffled and slightly horrified.

Harry knew better than to respond to Lyra's nonsense. Usually it would just baffle him, her odd slang and absurd behavior, but now he was actively looking forward to it. If he was lucky, Vernon might drop dead of shock. As it was, Vernon was eyeing Lyra in his chair with barely-concealed disgust. As if reading his thoughts — and she very well might've been — Lyra sunk further into it and spread herself out.

"What?" she said when Vernon and Petunia stared.

Harry laughed.

Vernon's head snapped to him, turning red already, then back at Lyra.

"What —" he began, mustache bristling, "— I — _who are you_?" he snapped. "Are you one of those — those —"

"Lesbians?" said Lyra innocently.

Aunt Petunia recoiled, face twisting into disgust, and Uncle Vernon turned purple, having trouble speaking.

" _No_ ," he said, as if it hurt him to even reply to that. "I mean, one of _his_ kind." He pointed to Harry, as if she needed clarification.

"Ah," said Lyra, pushing her sunglasses up her nose and raising her chin. She continued to stare at him, looking unimpressed; Harry at least assumed she was staring at Vernon, but he couldn't see her eyes.

" _Well_?" exploded Vernon when the silence dragged on too long. "What do you want? Why are you here? Have you come to take him?"

In a flash Lyra stood up, whipping her sunglasses off her face, so smoothly she probably practiced it earlier. Aunt Petunia jumped back, her disgust turning into fear, and Uncle Vernon took a step in front of her, as if he could do anything to protect her. Harry knew that if she wanted, Lyra could kill the both of them in a fraction of a second. It was an odd thing to think, that this fifteen-sixteen-year-old girl could so easily smite the whole neighborhood.

"I have," she said finally, letting the words hang, "indeed come to take Harry away. Unfortunately, not permanently. But" — she shrugged carelessly — "Voldemort might be back, so, y'know, Harry's gonna need your magicalprotection for a few more years."

Both Vernon and Petunia flinched at the use of the word _magical_.

"Magical protection?" interrupted Harry.

Lyra frowned down at him. "Thought you knew. Yeah, Dumbledore put an old spell over Little Whinging, tied to you and Petunia — protects you from Voldemort or anyone tied to him. Even a muggle hired by him wouldn't be able to get to you here."

Harry was a little annoyed he hadn't known this. It would've been good to know staying here at least protected him from Voldemort and his forces.

"Anyway," said Lyra, "I'll be taking him now." She hooked her arm around his and pulled him along to the door. "He'll be back next summer. If it wasn't for Voldemort, his godfather would have taken him in. He just got out of maximum security prison, you know, so he has plenty of time on his hands. We're going to go visit him now, actually." She turned to Harry. "Dumbledore was fine with me picking you up."

Utterly stupefied, and likely terrified, Petunia and Vernon stood rooted to their spot as Lyra guided Harry out of the house. His mind, too, was swimming. _Godfather_?

"Ah," said Lyra, stopping at the door and pulling out her wand. "Let's not forget your stuff, Harry. _Accio_!"

And with numerous loud crashes, a splintering of what must've been a door, and the squawking of Hedwig, all of Harry's things came flying down the stairs. His trunk stopped to float in front of them, the lid open as his clothes and other possessions piled into it. Hedwig's cage came flying in too, but without Hedwig.

"I opened the window in your room," said Lyra, reading his mind. "Hedwig will find her way."

His broom was the last to shoot into his trunk, which shut closed and shrunk to the size of a snitch and then leapt into Harry's pocket.

Lyra smiled, satisfied, and turned to the Dursleys who watched on in greater horror. Harry could tell through his mess of thoughts that she was feeling unholy glee at their reactions.

"Right then," she said. "Until next time! _Au revoir_!"

They both stepped outside. Harry was ready to question Lyra, to ask if she was allowed to do all that — perform all that magic — and about his godfather, who he hadn't known had existed until now — and then he saw in front of the house Narcissa Malfoy, looking down her nose at all of Petunia's flowers.

"So simple," she said, as if insulted by the lack of extravagant flora.

"Ministry gave my Mum permission to perform magic here," said Lyra, "but they never know who precisely is doing the magic, so —" She shrugged. "Time to go, Mum!"

Mrs. Malfoy turned to them.

"Ah, finally," she said, and smiled at Harry. "Hello, dear. Are you ready to go, then?"

Harry opened his mouth but nothing came out, so he just nodded.

"Information overload," said Lyra, then she wiggled her arm at her mother. "Let's go."

"Very well," said Mrs. Malfoy, grasping Lyra's hand. "Ready yourself, you two."

Harry had no idea what to ready himself for as Lyra grabbed his arm —

Then her arm twisted away and everything went black. He was pressed hard against nothing and everything from all directions, unable to breathe as his eyeballs were forced into the back of his head — and then —

He gasped as he landed on his knees, palming the concrete below him. After a moment of gulping down air, he looked up and saw they were no longer in Privet Drive. Harry had Apparated for the first time in his life.

They stood in some square in what Harry thought was London. It might have been impressive in its heyday, but such times were long gone. The fences were rusted, the windows — those that existed, at any rate — were covered in grime. The few occupied homes, visibly cleaner, brighter, and neater, provided a stark contrast between the maintained and the abandoned townhouses.

Mrs. Malfoy inhaled deeply as she stared at the building in front of her, and she smiled fondly.

"It's been quite a while since I've been here," she said, taking in the street and the unwelcoming houses with their broken windows, as if there was anything to even be fond about. Then she caught Harry's expression and laughed. "Oh I know, dear. It's certainly seen better days."

Mrs. Malfoy pushed open a creaky gate with a gloved hand, avoiding the worst spots of jagged rust. She strode to the door, numbered 12 with gold plates, covered in enough dirt that it looked more like bronze. She picked up the gargoyle-shaped knocker and knocked three times.

The door cracked open, still mostly closed by the chain.

"Oh, it's you," said a voice, slightly gravelly. Then the door shut, the sound of chains clinking, and opened fully. In the doorway stood a tall man with long black hair and gray eyes which reminded him of Draco. He was clean-shaven and dressed well, but his sunken cheeks and dark eyes gave the general appearance of a man recovering from something awful.

"Hello, cousin," said Mrs. Malfoy. "Have you been keeping up with your diet?"

"Bugger the diet," he grunted. "I'm not eating anything Kreacher makes."

"Well," sighed Mrs. Malfoy, "at least you haven't murdered the house-elf."

"Yet," he said darkly.

Lyra snorted, and the man turned to her.

"Oh, another relative," he said, his tone warmer as his eyes looked over her face. "She takes after you, Cissa. _Thankfully_."

"Indeed," said Mrs. Malfoy, her tone slightly cooler. "And I'd thank you to keep your comments to yourself."

Sirius chuckled to himself, then finally seemed to notice Harry standing partly behind Lyra. He stilled. Harry felt a little uncomfortable under the stranger's scrutiny, but the man broke into a small smile. Despite how small it was, Harry knew it was genuine.

"Harry," he said warmly. "This isn't the first time we've met, though you wouldn't really remember me. You weren't even able to walk back then."

Harry blinked, then caught Lyra's small jerk of her head, hinting something.

"Meet your godfather," she said softly.

"Oh," said Harry, something twisting in his chest. "Um... Nice to meet you, sir." He held out his hand, but Sirius stared at him as if he'd grown a second head.

"Please — just call me Sirius," said his godfather, shaking it surprisingly firmly for a man so thin. "My father fancied himself a 'sir.' And he was a prick of the highest order."

Harry smiled slightly then, and Sirius grinned. Then, surprising him a little, Sirius hugged him. Harry awkwardly patted his back; beaming as he pulled back, Sirius didn't seem to notice Harry's nervousness.

"Merlin, you look almost exactly like James when he was younger," he said. "Maybe I can tell you some embarrassing stories."

Harry gave a more genuine smile this time. "That sounds nice."

"You'd best take his boasts with a grain of salt, dear," Mrs. Malfoy said. "He likes to paint himself as the hero, when in reality he was the menace."

"You were hardly better yourself," said Sirius, turning to her. "You just didn't find amusement in inflicting terror."

"As you did?" said Mrs. Malfoy dryly.

"Hey, you okay?" whispered Lyra as Sirius and Mrs. Malfoy loosened up in their banter.

"I — yeah," said Harry. "It's just a lot."

"He was in Azkaban for the last decade," she said quietly. "For a crime he didn't commit. That's why you haven't met him until now. He's been out the last two years, but in St. Mungos — magical hospital — recovering. You've heard of Azkaban, I'm sure."

"I've heard you talk about being tossed in yourself," said Harry. "A lot."

"Yeah, it's not…" Lyra grimaced, looking back at Sirius. "I joke, but it's not funny, really. It's patrolled by dementors, which I've told you about. People go insane there. Just — just keep that in mind when you talk to him."

"You two," said Mrs. Malfoy, pulling them out of their conversation. She gestured inside, where Sirius had stepped to the side to allow room.

"Welcome to Grimmauld Place, Harry, Lyra," said Sirius. "One of the Black family's many homes, and the place where many memories were made. Most of them bad ones, but still."

They made their way inside, looking around at the dark interior of the home. Lyra especially seemed interested, taking in every detail.

"So, Harry," said Sirius, clapping a hand on his shoulder. "I've been cleaning this place out for a while now. A lot of the rooms are empty, though — so I figured I'd make one of them yours. You could visit whenever you'd like that way. Want to see?"

"Sure," Harry said, and followed Sirius up the stairs. On the second floor was a corridor lined with bedrooms; Harry noted the dimensions of this home were much larger on the inside than what he could see from outside. Sirius paused in front of the two doors at the far end of the corridor, on either side of an old wooden table with a fine vase sitting on it.

"This is my room," Sirius said, nudging the left door with his foot. "I use it as an office sometimes, so if you need me, I might be in here. And this" — Sirius turned the knob to the right door — "is yours."

Harry was overcome with red and gold as he entered.

The room was more Gryffindor-ish than the Gryffindor common room. Scarlet banners hung from the bed, from the window-frames, above the desk — everywhere. The bedspreads were red and the pillowcase was gold. One wall was dominated with moving photographs. Harry looked closely, his eyes widening at the familiar faces. Some of them had Hagrid and a few professors, though much younger than they were now. Some were recognizably Sirius, though less thin. Others were men wearing glasses and sharing Harry's messy black hair; others were kind-looking women with wavy red hair, waving to whomever had been behind the camera…

Harry felt his eyes sting with emotion and his heart pound with something like heartache.

"That was… Merlin, seventeen or so years ago," Sirius said, brushing his fingers against one photo. It had Harry's mum and dad, both dressed in knitted woolen clothes, standing in a park with a small layer of snow. "This was a couple of hours before your dad proposed to your mum. James wanted to go see the sunrise with her, but he accidentally slept in so he decided to go watch the sunset instead."

Harry couldn't help but laugh at that, his voice filled with warmth and happiness and that ever-present bit of sorrow for his parents. Sirius didn't miss it; he put his arm over his shoulders and squeezed gently. They stood in silence for now, Sirius probably knowing that if he talked more about Lily and James, Harry's dam might break and he'd be embarrassed for it.

"But yeah," Sirius said eventually, Summoning a box of tissues and plopping it on the bedside table. "I thought I'd give you a room here. You'll always be welcome with me, after all. If you want to redecorate, though, let me know and I'll help. I'm many things, but an interior decorator is not one of them."

"Thank you," said Harry, his voice cracking a little, "but no. I want to keep it this way."

Sirius smiled. "As you wish."

"Who's this?" Harry asked, pointing to a somewhat tired-looking, but nonetheless happy man in a group photo from New Year's Eve.

"Ah, that's Moony," said Sirius. "Remus Lupin. Old friend of mine, and your father's. He's always turned down my invitations, but I don't think he'll want to miss meeting you."

The stood in comfortable silence for a while. Eventually, Harry had Sirius Unshrink his trunk and then shoved it underneath the bed. Then he took one last look around the room and then to Sirius.

"Thank you, Sirius," he said.

Sirius waved him away. "It's not a problem."

Harry fell to Sirius' side as they made their way back downstairs. "You and Lyra are related, right?"

"Yeah, she's my niece or something, I suppose. The daughter of my cousin. Why?"

"Do you all have star names?"

"Lyra's a constellation," said Sirius. "Or have you not been paying attention in Astronomy?"

"Not really."

Sirius chuckled under his breath. "I don't know about who's teaching these days, but it was a waste of time for me. Rather be in bed."

They came to the bottom floor, stepping into the kitchen. Harry was immediately captured by Mrs. Weasley, who crushed him in her warm embrace. The woman stepped away then, looking him up and down with a beaming smile.

"Oh, Harry dear, it's lovely to see you again," she said, fussing over his clothes and hair. "You must have been _miserable_ with those muggles…"

"Good to see you too, Mrs. Weasley," said Harry, a little amazed. "What are you doing here?"

Mrs. Weasley pursed her lips briefly. "Hm. Headmaster Dumbledore called for a meeting, you see," she said. "Gathering up the old guard, I suppose... and recruiting new members, such as me and Arthur. Things are quite hectic right now."

Harry blinked, but Mrs. Weasley didn't elaborate. He turned to Sirius instead, who shrugged noncommittally. Before he could say anything, two redheads stumbled into the kitchen, bumping into Sirius and earning a glare of disapproval from Mrs. Weasley. Ron blinked at Harry, then grinned.

"Blimey," he said. "You're here! I've been waiting for _days_."

"You ought to learn some patience, Ronald," said Mrs. Weasley.

"Nevermind that, he's finally here!" Ron exclaimed, drawing a smile from his mother. "How's it been, mate?"

Harry shrugged, catching Ginny's eyes. Ginny blushed, as she always seemed to do in his presence. Sirius raised a singular eyebrow that made Harry shift uncomfortably. Ron looked to and from his friend and his sister, and pulled a face.

"Ginny, stop ogling Harry."

"I'm not!" Ginny said, her face a furious red.

"Ron, be nice to your sister," said Mrs. Weasley, sharing a small smile with Sirius.

"Yes, mum," Ron said, sounding like he wanted to roll his eyes.

As Ginny fled, Mrs. Malfoy stepped into the kitchen, crowding it once more.

"Cousin," she said, glancing back at Ginny's fleeing form with a frown. "I believe Alastor Moody is here with the Headmaster. He demands to know what your first punishment was as an Auror trainee for putting laxatives in his tea."

Sirius rolled his eyes and left the room, grumbling,"Why does he insist on passwords and secret questions _every single time_?"

An awkward air permeated the room as Molly Weasley and Narcissa Malfoy failed to look each other in the eyes or come up with a topic of conversation. Ron and Harry glanced at each other. Eventually, Mrs. Weasley took the initiative.

"Tea?" she asked.

"That would be lovely, thank you," said Mrs. Malfoy.

Mrs. Weasley seemed grateful for the distraction, bustling to put a kettle to boil. Meanwhile, Mrs. Malfoy crossed and uncrossed her arms, staring at nothing in particular. Ron looked at Harry again.

"Ron, dear, head on back up," said Mrs. Weasley without turning to face him. "I'm sure the Headmaster wants to talk to Harry."

"Alright," Ron said with a sigh. "I'll see you in a bit, then, Harry."

Mrs. Weasley handed Mrs. Malfoy a steaming cup.

"Thank you," Mrs. Malfoy said, taking a sip.

"Sirius stocks some lovely tea," Mrs. Weasley said.

"I chose this brand, actually. Imported from Turkey." Mrs. Malfoy took another sip. "Sirius prefers coffee. The cheap, instant kind." She didn't fake the shudder that followed.

"Ah, Molly, could you kindly prepare another two cups?" said a familiar voice. Into the kitchen strode the Headmaster, eyes briefly settling on Harry to give him a kind smile. Behind him was Sirius and a heavily scarred man with a peg-leg. "Harry, allow me to introduce you to my old friend, Alastor Moody."

Moody stared at Harry, his fake eye whizzing around in its socket until it finally settled on him. Harry shuffled awkwardly before holding out his hand.

"So you're the lad that smote the Dark Lord, eh?" he said. "You don't look like much."

"Alastor," said Dumbledore.

"Fine," said Moody, rolling his eyes — it was a bizarre sight, his fake eye completing about five revolutions while the real eye only managed one. He took Harry's hand in a calloused grip and shook firmly. "Good to meet you, son. Most call me Mad-Eye."

"You too," said Harry. As the grizzled man turned away, Harry tried to massage some sensation back into his hand.

"Now, Harry, I believe I should talk to you about the primary reason for my visit," said Dumbledore.

"Here, Albus?" Moody interrupted. "With this audience? I can understand Molly, but Malfoy?"

Mrs. Malfoy returned Moody's gaze coolly, not at all phased by his appearance and aggression. "If you can't teach your dog to behave, Headmaster, I suggest you keep a tighter leash."

"Fat words coming from a mouth that feeds from the Dark Lord's hand," Moody snarled.

"Enough," said Dumbledore, raising his voice and staring down the both of them. "Narcissa, I am afraid I will have to ask for you to leave for this discussion."

To her credit, Mrs. Malfoy rallied quickly. "Very well... I will be upstairs with my daughter for the time being."

"Ah," said Dumbledore, holding up a finger. "I would like Lyra to be present, actually, if you will."

Mrs. Malfoy raised an eyebrow, looking wholly unimpressed with both Moody and Dumbledore, but gave a small nod and left the room. Moody turned back to Dumbledore immediately.

"You're too trusting of them," he growled. "First that Potions master of yours, and now her and her daughter — you can't throw a new coat of paint on rot and expect things to be just fine."

"I am not yet sure if to trust her," said Dumbledore simply. "But I do trust her to keep her daughter safe and happy, her daughter who is friends with Harry."

"Her daughter, a Malfoy, raised by Malfoys," said Moody darkly.

"I trust her, Alastor," said Dumbledore, turning around and making his way into the long dining room, where he sat at the end of the table. Moody grunted and hobbled after him, pulling out a chair to his right.

"I'd like to meet this lass," grunted Moody, stretching his injured leg. "Has she also got some tale you can't share?"

"You will hear it yourself," said Dumbledore, then turned around and gestured to Harry. "Come, take a seat, Harry."

Harry did so, and Sirius and Mrs. Weasley joined him on either side.

"Now," said Dumbledore, resting his hand on top of his other. "We must discuss your future, and the immediate problems involved — namely, the presence of Lord Voldemort."

Harry nodded, even as Mrs. Weasley flinched beside him.

"Our first priority, of course, is to keep you and your friends safe," said Dumbledore. "And our second priority is the complete destruction of Voldemort — both of them, if that is the case. Since there is significant overlap between these two objectives, I have been persuaded to give you some tutoring by those who have participated in the previous Wizarding War."

"You mean I'm going to get training, sir?" asked Harry.

"I have tweaked the Defense curriculum for this year to involve more practical components," said Dumbledore. "But we can arrange for private tutoring, if you believe you are up for it. It is your choice, of course, but I imagine Sirius would be more than happy to assist."

Harry glanced at Sirius, who was sitting in his chair a little smugly.

"I was quite the duelist, if I say so myself," he said.

"Would be a good way to knock off the rust," said Moody. "You might even be able to beat the lad."

Sirius pointedly ignored the comment.

"You see the issue, Harry," said Dumbledore. "Lord Voldemort remains out there, possibly with the Philosopher's Stone, and his teenage self may be slowly taking over a poor soul as we speak. Two Riddles."

Harry nodded, honestly terrified at the thought. "Lyra told me."

Dumbledore smiled, though it was a bit sad. "Indeed. If Lord Voldemort regains a body, he will likely not announce himself immediately. He will be patient. We must be especially cautious for this reason. Your new education will not just be so you may throw stronger spells at your enemy, but also so you may detect anything that may be related to his movements, and react accordingly — such as a spy or a cursed object sent to kill you."

Just then, someone knocked on the front door. Sirius stood up and went to go check who it was, Moody trailing behind him, probably to interrogate whoever it was. Moody glanced out the windows, checking to make sure there were no unsavory elements waiting to ambush him beyond the door.

A moment later, they came back with some short wizard they called Mundungus Fletcher, who avoided looking in Dumbledore and Moody's direction, choosing instead to sit in the far corner on a chair and dip his hat over his eyes.

"As I was saying," said Dumbledore as Sirius and Moody sat back down, "it is likely Voldemort will stay in the shadows as long as he may, slowly infiltrating the Ministry and anywhere else. Tom Riddle may attempt the same. Frankly, I have no idea if the two will collaborate, fuse together, or fight against one another. Such a thing as two souls of a person becoming their own beings has never before been seen to my knowledge."

"Sir," said Harry, hesitating. "How is that even possible? How can two Voldemorts even exist at the same time?"

Dumbledore leaned back in his chair. "You see, Harry, Voldemort's greatest fear is _death_. His own death, to be precise. I believe that the Diary was his way of leaving behind a copy of himself, so to speak, so that should he ever perish, another version of himself will rise to replace him."

"Cunt," said Moody.

"Alastor!" said Molly, scandalized.

Dumbledore sighed and sent both him and a chuckling Sirius long-suffering looks.

"To summarize," he said, "this year's Defense courses will be taught by Alastor. He has always been among the most distinguished Aurors. He also participated extensively in the previous war against Voldemort's forces and has deep insight into how they operate. My goal is to keep you from the fighting..." He gave Harry a deeply grave look. "Should you ever encounter Voldemort's forces, you will flee first. The magic that will be first taught to you will be magic that should aid you in flight of death."

"What if I can't run away?" said Harry quietly, feeling as if this was all too much. Dumbledore spoke as if an army was coming for him — and it made his throat tighten to know the headmaster was justified in doing so.

"Then," said Dumbledore slowly and seriously, "you will fight. This curriculum extends to the other Hogwarts students as well, so hopefully, they too will be safer."

"Used to train Aurors," grumbled Moody, "and now I've been reduced to training _teenagers_."

Harry jumped slightly as the door knocker sounded. The sound of chair legs scraping against the wooden floor filled the kitchen as Sirius and Mad-Eye stood up again to go open it. This time, Sirius looked out the window, and then ran to the door.

Harry heard the door open loudly, without a care, and Moody cursed at Sirius.

"Moony!" said Sirius, and then some woman began screaming, making Harry jump again in alarm.

"Just a cursed painting," said Mrs. Weasley kindly, getting up to go deal with it.

"Black!" Mad-Eye snapped. "Has your time in prison leaked your brains from your ears? How the bloody hell do you know that's your real friend, eh?"

There was some muffled argument Harry couldn't make out, and then he heard his name, followed by silence.

"Harry Potter?" said the other voice, one Sirius had called Moony. Harry almost shrunk a little into himself at the way the voice perked up in excitement, but then he remembered that Moony was the name of Remus Lupin.

"Thank you, Sirius," said Moony as they came nearer and their voices became clearer. "It's... It's really good to see you again."

"Yeah... You too, old friend," said Sirius. "And look at that, is that another cousin of mine? What _is_ today, a family reunion?"

Remus Lupin stepped into the dining room, giving a tired smile to everyone. Harry thought he looked much older than he should, when compared to the younger Remus in the photographs in his room.

"Harry," said Remus when his weary eyes fell on him. "You look just like James."

"Mr. Remus?" Harry said.

Remus' smile widened slightly. "Please, just Remus is fine. It's good to meet you again, after so long."

Harry shook the man's hand with a firm grip, and Remus sat down at the seat Sirius had been in. Mrs. Weasley poured some tea for Remus, who accepted it graciously before swallowing the whole thing in one gulp.

Then Sirius walked into the kitchen with another woman, who looked a bit like Mrs. Malfoy, were her hair dark rather than blonde. She also looked around at everyone, a little warily, but smiled kindly at Harry, inclining her head a little. Behind her was a pink-haired witch visibly dragging her feet behind the older woman. When she saw Harry, Dumbledore and Moody, though, she straightened.

"Wotcher, everyone," said the witch, grinning brightly. "Hey, Mad-Eye, still hobbling along?"

Moody grunted.

"Professor," she said, nodding at Dumbledore, then she looked at Harry. "'Lo, Harry. I'm Tonks."

"Hello, Harry," the older woman said. "I'm Andromeda Tonks, and this is my daughter, _Nymphadora_."

Nymphadora Tonks glared at her mother before enthusiastically approaching Harry for a handshake — she tripped over quite literally nothing and banged her hip against the corner of the table. Harry winced but obliged her handshake. Her face was red and her smile was a little more forced than before, but she prevailed.

"Nymphadora," Mrs. Tonks sighed.

" _Please_ don't call me that," said Tonks to Harry.

Harry nodded uncertainly. Mrs. Tonks didn't look too impressed at her daughter's behavior, but they took a seat anyway.

"Andromeda is another of Sirius' cousins," Dumbledore said for his benefit.

" _Another_?" said Mrs. Tonks, raising a single dark eyebrow.

"You're Mrs. Malfoy's sister?" said Harry, and her other eyebrow hiked up to meet the other.

"I am indeed," she said carefully. "I trust she hasn't given you a negative opinion of my family — not that I've spoken much to any of my family for some time."

"No, she's been really nice," said Harry, which seemed to raise her eyebrows even more. "I'm friends with her daughter."

"Lyra?" said Tonks, wearing a complicated expression.

"Not her son?" asked Mrs. Tonks. "He's of an age with you, is he not?"

Dumbledore raised his teacup to his mouth and said before taking a sip, "Mr. Potter and Mr. Malfoy have fostered a most fascinating rivalry."

Harry blushed at that description as Sirius and Andromeda shared amused looks. At that moment, Lyra burst into the room, stopping cold when she saw the newest occupants of the room. Mrs. Tonks' eyes went from unfamiliarity to recognition in a moment; Tonks looked like she didn't know if she should smile or grimace.

Lyra stood there, glancing at everyone in the room until she finally settled her gaze on Tonks. She shifted to put her weight on one leg, her entire posture smug.

"Why are _you_ here?" Tonks said, eyes narrowing.

"Because I've done more to hurt Voldemort's cause than you have as an Auror?" said Lyra sweetly, and Tonks sputtered.

" _Don't_ ," said Mrs. Tonks, holding a hand up before Tonks could say anything. "Now, Lyra, dear, come here. Merlin, you've grown since I last saw you."

"I'm probably a sight for sore eyes, huh," said Lyra, embracing her. She glanced at Tonks over Mrs. Tonks' shoulder. "Very sore eyes." Tonks' hair turned red as Lyra pulled back. "Don't think it's been too long, though."

"If you wish, Harry, you can leave," Dumbledore said, pulling Harry's attention away. "I just thought you might want to meet a few people you will become increasingly familiar with in the coming months. A few of your professors will be here shortly, should you wish to greet them, although I understand if you wouldn't like to be here when Professor Snape arrives."

"Ah — yeah, maybe," said Harry. "I'll be able to see them once you're done, right?"

Dumbledore inclined his head, and Harry stood. He made polite goodbyes to everybody and rushed up the stairs to join Ron who was, as he'd expected, currently bored out of his mind.

* * *

Andromeda Tonks watched the Boy Who Lived rush out of the kitchen and up the stairs. A seemingly unremarkable boy, yet he may prove himself in time. He was still young. She turned her attention back to Lyra as she made her way around the table to sit next to Moody, who glanced at her with clear distrust.

Lyra didn't so much as glance at him, but from the satisfied expression she held, Andromeda could tell she was enjoying it. That or the fact she was going to be part of this meeting. An appreciation for attention would've made sense, being the daughter of Narcissa and Lucius. Though not much else did, from what she had heard of the girl.

Lyra Malfoy was one step away from pulling an Andromeda — though it seemed Lyra's parents were far more accepting than Andromeda's own were. But still, fraternizing with muggle-borns — Andromeda had half-expected her sister to have a heart attack. After all, she nearly did back when _she_ had decided to fraternize with a muggle-born by the name of Ted Tonks.

Though Andromeda hated to admit it, the difference in how they were treated by the same woman made her bitter. But she didn't begrudge Lyra; she was glad for her biannual visits to her home.

Soon, more Order members arrived, all inspected by Mad-Eye Moody. Professors McGonagall and Flitwick arrived together, while Professor Snape came on his own. Kingsley Shacklebolt, a senior Auror according to Nymphadora, came next with Arthur Weasley at his side. Next was one of the elder Weasley children — William, he was called, who had come down from upstairs rather than the door, sitting down near Lyra and introducing himself to her.

To her surprise came a man that looked like a far less pleasant Professor Dumbledore, introducing himself as Aberforth Dumbledore, his brother. He ignored everybody as he sat down. There were also a few others she didn't know the name of.

"Now that we have gathered," said Dumbledore, quieting everyone, "we can begin our first meeting of the reborn Order of the Phoenix."

Nymphadora clapped, then faltered when nobody else joined in. Lyra sent her an evil smirk, mouthing something that looked like _loser_. Andromeda fought back a sigh.

"Thank you," said Dumbledore with a gracious smile. "Now, some of you here are veterans of the first Order. You will know that this organization was created to hinder Voldemort in any way we could, to stop the progress of evil. I have called this organization to arms once again because we are looking at the possible resurgence of Voldemort — or, if we are unlucky, two Voldemorts."

There was a cacophony of muttering and questions. Andromeda herself had no idea what that could mean, but it seemed some — like Lyra and Sirius — already knew. Most, however, didn't.

"Two You-Know-Whos?" someone said.

"What does that mean?" said another.

Dumbledore sighed. "As you all know, Lord Voldemort has stolen the Philosopher's Stone. Thankfully, if he remains a wraith without a host or friend, it will be difficult for him to use, perhaps impossible, but if not — if he learns how to use it to regain a proper body..." He trailed off, not needing to say anything more; everybody had already been informed of the mess regarding the Philosopher's Stone the year before. "The reason for his undeath, however... his ability to exist as a wraith after the destruction of his body... That is the other matter of importance."

He paused, falling into thought, as if unsure of how to proceed.

"Lord Voldemort has always greatly feared death," he said, somewhat slowly. "I believe he has created a fail-safe of sorts, a dark object that is able to recreate a younger version of himself, should he himself perish."

Again, there were murmurs and questions asked, coming one after another until Dumbledore raised a hand to silence them.

"This fail-safe was discovered by one of very own," he said, and he gestured to Lyra. She sat there, looking a little uncomfortable suddenly as she lightly tapped a finger on the dark wood of the table. "Lyra, if you would like, you may tell the tale. I do not wish to say anything you or James would not like to be told to those present."

"Why isn't James here?" said Minerva. "I was under the impression he was responsible for this new disaster."

Dumbledore opened his mouth but Lyra spoke first.

"Because there's no point in you all torturing him more than he's already torturing himself," she said.

Minerva blinked at the sharp tone, clearly not used to it, then turned a bit curt herself. "Malfoy, if Stark is the reason Dumbledore felt the need to gather twenty people here —"

"Minerva," began Dumbledore, but Lyra once again cut across him.

"The only thing he could do is tell what happened," she said with a swift air of finality, turning stiff in her chair. Then she relaxed, leaning back again. "And I know what happened myself."

"It's quite all right, Minerva," said Dumbledore. "She is right. To force James to sit here and relive his mistake, as grave as it might turn out to be... it would be needlessly cruel." He nodded at Lyra. "If you would?"

"Why should we trust her to tell us the full truth?" said Moody suddenly, casting a dark look at her. "Why can't you just tell it, Albus? Why is she even here?"

"Because I'm the reason Voldemort _doesn't_ have a friend or host right now," snapped Lyra.

Moody's eyes darted from Lyra to Dumbledore several times, and Dumbledore nodded.

"It is true," he said. "Lyra was the one to discover Quirrell's plot. Were it not for her, the Stone would have been stolen right under my nose, and Voldemort would have both a host and a friend still. It is likely he would already have returned."

The intrigue blossoming within Andromeda turned to pride, and certainly wonder too. No wonder Narcissa would be here, allowing her daughter to be a part of the Order. Lyra Malfoy had perhaps put herself right below Harry Potter and Albus Dumbledore on Voldemort's list of people he wished to torture and murder. How ironic.

Moody stared at Lyra, still untrusting.

"She's the reason I'm out of Azkaban," said Sirius. "She was the one who caught Pettigrew, found out he was an Animagus, turned him in, set me free." He shrugged. "She's got my trust."

"And I've heard and seen nothing but greatness from her!" piped up Filius. "She and James might be troublemakers, but from what I hear they've both never declined to help a struggling student. She's stopped bullies too." He grimaced slightly. "Though not in a way I'd prefer..."

"She's also been nothing but wonderful to us," said Molly, frowning in thought. "My kids all like her, I think. Especially Fred and George."

"Not Percy," whispered Lyra to Bill. "I kept flirting with Penelope Clearwater — his girlfriend."

"Never turned her nose down at us," said Arthur, shaking his head in amusement as Bill snorted. "Not like — well..." He grew uncomfortable, not wanting to say it.

"All I can say is that she can hold her liquor well," said Aberforth, his voice a bit rough, "and that her tongue gets loose when she can't."

Lyra laughed nervously.

"I've heard her say things she probably can't remember now," he continued, "things she probably wish she hadn't if she knew." He let Lyra sit there for a moment uncomfortably. "But none of it was bad, really. She's got a good heart."

"As much as I hate to admit it," said Nymphadora, in a tone that truly suggested it pained her, "Lyra is definitely on our side, Moody. James, too. They're both little shits, but I've seen them stand up against bigotry when they were only firsties, while we were both in Hogwarts."

Nymphadora's words seemed to convince Moody the most.

"Fine," he grunted, and waved a hand. "Whatever."

Dumbledore, who had been smiling serenely the whole time, nodded to Lyra again.

"Right," said Lyra, leaning forward and lacing her fingers together. "I... My father — he had this black book, held onto it for years, and… I guess it was to get back at the Weasleys or something" — she gestured to them — "I don't really know, but at Diagon Alley last year, he slipped the diary into Ginny's cauldron."

Arthur straightened in his seat, looking outraged, and Molly paled. Bill narrowed his eyes.

"Diary?" said Kingsley.

"It was Tom Riddle's diary," said Lyra, "given to my father in the first war, I imagine. It was" — she glanced at the Weasleys with a grimace — "it was imbued with dark magic. Tom Riddle was — is Lord Voldemort's real name."

Andromeda hadn't known this, but it seemed all the Order members from the first war already had. Molly and Arthur only paled further.

"I saw him do it," Lyra continued. "I took it out of her cauldron and held onto it. I wasn't sure what it did then, but I've never trusted my father fully."

"Why didn't you turn it in?" said Moody. "Why is your father still walking free?"

"What was I supposed to do?" she hissed back at him. "Tear my family apart with accusations I couldn't prove? It'd end up nowhere. All I'd do is make my brother hate me and probably break my mother's heart."

"Can you break something that's nonexistent?" said Moody without remorse.

"Alastor!" said Dumbledore sharply. "That is enough."

Lyra stared at Moody hard, her eyebrows low and her nostrils flaring.

"You held onto it yourself," said Dumbledore to her. "Quite understandable. Please continue."

Lyra looked at him then, and then away, and Andromeda knew Lyra had made a mistake somewhere and it was coming up.

"I put it in my trunk, which was _meant_ to be spelled against intruders," said Lyra, definitely some kind of guilt quieting her voice. "But James wanted to see it. He got it out of my trunk before I had even put it in my dorm. Probably while we were on the train."

Moody muttered something under his breath, Minerva closed her eyes and rubbed her temples, and Filius sighed in disappointment.

"He tried to set up this whole system that would flag any sort of unaccounted-for behavior." Lyra shook her head. "He'd learned Occlumency too, but who knows if it even worked. But Riddle wasn't doing anything that could be flagged by his system. It was just reading his mind, I guess, figuring out a plan of his own. He didn't even do anything until the very end. I don't know. James doesn't even remember everything that happened."

"Why'd you even let him use it that long?" said Nymphadora, sounding disappointed. "Lyra..."

"I _didn't_. He _wanted_ to have this whole plan so he could keep using it, but I shut him down. I took it back, put it in my trunk, which was in my dorm, which is spelled against boys, and added extra protective spells on the trunk itself that he definitely couldn't get into." Then she grimaced.

"What?" said Moody impatiently. "What happened then?"

"I..." Lyra looked for a moment as though her eyes were about to water. "I didn't realize that the diary he had handed back to me was a fake — I think he might've applied some magic to it, a mild Confundus Charm or something — I don't know."

Moody cursed. "And we're supposed to _trust_ _him_?"

"So he had only used it for — how long, exactly?" said Bill, cutting off anyone else.

"A few hours," said Lyra quietly. "He wrote in it for a few hours, talking to Riddle. Mostly insulting him, though."

Bill grimaced. "It'd be enough anyway," he said. "Someone like Voldemort, even at sixteen, could probably twist his thoughts enough to make him do that."

"I thought it was in my trunk the whole year," said Lyra, avoiding catching anyone's gaze. "I even checked on it when James got all grumpy a few weeks later. But it was there at the bottom of my trunk still."

"So James was having mood changes all year?" said Nymphadora, holding her hands up as if in disbelief.

"He got _grumpy_ ," said Lyra defensively. "He wasn't doing anything crazy. I just figured it was family trouble, or grief was getting to him from losing some of his loved ones a while back. He bottles that stuff up and I thought it was just leaking out. And it began _weeks_ after he had stopped using the diary — after I thought he had stopped using it, anyway. And then it was months. I didn't think a few hours of writing in it was going to affect him from a distance for months after, okay?"

"Still stupid," said Moody, though with less heat than before. "The both of you."

"What, you would've guessed it was the diary?" said Lyra, irritated.

"I wouldn't have let him use it at all!" he said, the heat returning immediately.

" _Foolish boy_ ," whispered Minerva to herself.

"You know," said Lyra, turning on her with a fire in her eyes, "if you had taken my warnings about Quirrell seriously, _Professor_ , maybe we could've stopped him from getting the Stone and we would only have this Riddle to worry about. But instead I had to run around, trying to find _someone_ to take me seriously, wasting my time as he was already down there, stealing the damn thing —"

"Miss Malfoy!" said Professor Snape, speaking up for the first time as Minerva's face both hardened and paled; yet she said nothing.

"Please," sighed Dumbledore. "We have all made mistakes. Including myself. Let us put aside the judgement and focus on the issue. This is precisely how Lord Voldemort divides. I would not put it past even young Tom to have deliberately manipulated James into doing things that Tom knew would cause confusion and conflict."

Lyra put her palms on the table and took a deep breath to steady herself.

"Then, one night," said Dumbledore, "I was in my office when Minerva rushed in, saying a student was missing."

"The Fat Lady had rushed into one of the portraits in my office," said Minerva. "She said a student from Ravenclaw had demanded access to the Gryffindor Tower, and that they had been acting odd... violent. I went to investigate, naturally, and found in front of the entrance to the Tower a trail of blood. I followed it, and it led to an abandoned bathroom on the second floor. There was a hole where a sink had once been, leading to a large pipe. The blood stopped right in front of the pipe, and I concluded the student had jumped inside."

"She came and found me immediately then," said Dumbledore, taking over again. "I followed the pipe down into a tunnel, and the tunnel to a large chamber, decorated with stone serpents and a tall statue of Salazar Slytherin. It was then I realized that it was the fabled Chamber of Secrets."

"That's _real_?" said Bill, looking as though he might be excited if it weren't for the severity of the story.

"So it appears. And beneath the statue I found a dead basilisk and the battered body of James Stark, near death," said Dumbledore.

"A basilisk!" said Molly, holding her hands to her mouth. Bill's eyes widened further and a few others murmured their surprise. Nymphadora whispered in appreciation, and Andromeda elbowed her. The thought of such a creature in a school where hundreds gathered regularly in one spot...

"The boy killed it?" said Moody.

"At the near cost of his life," said Dumbledore.

Moody hummed. "Still."

"Yes, he did a great service to the school in killing a dormant but considerable threat underneath its foundations. However, the diary was not in his possession in the Chamber. Tom Riddle may have given the diary to another first, and with his last tendrils of control, threw James into the Chamber and summoned the basilisk. Lyra's information that James was apparently well-prepared in dealing with Tom only strengthens my belief in this matter. James would have been too much of a hassle. So he trapped him within the Chamber, but was not able or forgot to close the entrance to it."

"So You-Know-Who could be taking advantage of another student right this moment," said Minerva, her lips pulled into a thin line.

"Taking advantage of — for now, perhaps," said Dumbledore grimly. "As James has shown, it is only a matter of time until Tom usurps them fully."

A moment of silence descended upon them, and nothing was heard but everybody's breathing and their sipping of tea.

"Is there anything else, Lyra?" said Dumbledore.

Lyra shrugged. "Not much more happened. You told me about James in the Chamber. I freaked out, realized what must've happened, and went to check on the diary."

"Why?" said Minerva.

Lyra frowned. "Why what?"

"Why did you check on the diary? How did you know the diary was connected to the Chamber?"

And then Andromeda saw something familiar, a split second look on Lyra's face that only Andromeda could recognize, for she had seen it on Narcissa more than once: it was the look a younger Narcissa had made whenever she was asked a damning question and had to immediately think of an answer.

"I — I got a little curious too. On the first day, I had James ask the diary a few questions as well. It told me it was meant to open some secret room within the school. As soon as Dumbledore mentioned the Chamber of Secrets... Well, I had come across its myth before, and it was the only thing that made sense. Riddle was a Parselmouth, and the school's been searched for Chamber numerous times before. There'd have to be something special required to find it and get in."

Andromeda felt her heart skip.

Lyra was lying through her teeth.

An uncomfortable silence reigned among them again. Minerva frowned, but didn't seem to find the explanation suspicious; neither did Filius or Moody. Snape on the other hand watched Lyra with suspicion, though that might simply have been his usual disposition. Dumbledore rested his chin on his interlaced fingers. She figured that Lyra had probably used the diary herself to find all this out, but Andromeda wasn't about to voice her thoughts.

"We should station Aurors at the school entrance," said Kingsley, bringing them out of their silence. "We can scan students as they enter."

"Albus," said Filius thoughtfully, "do you know if You-Know-Who can only control their hosts through the diary? Could he simply have his host leave the object at home, bypassing all security?"

"Possibly," Dumbledore said. "It is also possible that the diary has been given to a student who has just graduated and will not be returning, or another grown witch or wizard. Tom may consider it foolish to return to Hogwarts as another student."

"So everyone's a potential carrier," Moody said. "What a bloody mess."

Dumbledore sighed softly through his nose, all but confirming Moody's words.

"I think I should like to insist on some kind of screening either way," Kingsley said. "Just on the first day as they enter, we'll scan for dark items."

"And the owls?" said Moody. "Even a drop-off point at the edge of Hogwarts grounds. There are plenty of ways to sneak dark items into Hogwarts, despite the impenetrability they claim."

"They're children, Alastor," said an Auror that Andromeda didn't know the name of. "They're not that clever."

"Oh, I don't know. They might be collaborating with their parents," said Moody, shooting a glance at Lyra.

She narrowed her eyes at him. "Did Rosier take out a piece of your brain too?"

"Aye, you'd know about Rosier, wouldn't you —?"

"Stop," cut in Dumbledore. His voice was not loud; indeed, he sounded merely weary at this point. "Please. For the rest of our sakes. There are topics of greater importance."

Lyra and Moody both backed down.

"He's on the right track, though," said Lyra vaguely. "There are plenty of ways into the castle or out of it that most people don't know about."

Dumbledore raised his eyebrows at her. "And I expect you know of these entrances?"

"Some," she said, lightly shrugging. "The Room of Requirement can conjure up an exit to Hogsmeade. It can't work the other way around, but you could get something to Hogsmeade, leave it there, then, you know."

"Open up a passage to that location," said Dumbledore, nodding. "I will investigate it."

"There's also a secret passageway behind the statue of Gunhilda de Gorsemoor on the third floor. It leads to Honeydukes." She shrugged when people gave her amazed looks. "Also, the Whomping Willow — passage beneath it that leads to the Shrieking Shack."

"You know about that one, do you?" said Remus, smiling weakly.

Lyra gave him a pointed look. "I have a map, _Moony_."

Sirius blinked and Remus opened his mouth soundlessly.

"You mean —?"

"I should probably let you know about that now," said Lyra to Dumbledore, and she withdrew her wand and flicked it through the air.

"Miss Malfoy!" said Filius. "You're not allowed to use magic outside of school yet!"

Lyra ignored him as some kind of parchment flew into the room from the doorway. She caught it, then slid it over to Dumbledore.

"Password's _I solemnly swear I am up to no good_. To close it off, _Mischief Managed._ "

Dumbledore looked down at it with a curious expression, and tapped his wand on the parchment.

"I solemnly swear I am up to no good," he said, and the parchment opened up, unfolding to reveal (Andromeda leaned in to get a better look) a map of Hogwarts, with tunnels and areas she had never seen before, and what looked like a pair of footsteps walking through one of the halls, named _Argus Filch_.

"The memories that thing brings back," said Sirius, grinning widely, even as Professor Snape looked at the object in disgust. "Where'd you find it?"

"Filch's office," said Lyra. Beside her, Filius sighed. "It was how I found Pettigrew, actually. Saw _Ron Weasley_ and _Peter Pettigrew_ in the same area in the library, even though Ron was alone."

"Did you see Lord Voldemort when he possessed Quirrell?" said Dumbledore, tracing his fingers over the parchment in wonder.

"I honestly haven't used the map much the last two years. I'd learned the layout of the castle by heart long before Quirrell became the Defense professor. The only time I looked for Quirrell was after I had already overheard him talking about the Stone and was going to get James' help, and by then he was off the map."

"I can't believe you just handed it to the Headmaster, Lyra," said Sirius, with a dramatic groan. "Do you know how many all-nighters we pulled to make that thing?"

"For you, none," said Remus flatly. "You always ended up falling asleep before we did much."

"Mischief Managed," said Dumbledore quietly, folding the map up and putting it in his robes. "I thank you for this, Lyra. I don't know if it will show Tom if he is possessing another student, but it will be useful nonetheless."

Sirius watched the map disappear into the folds of fabric with something like despair in his eyes. Then he grimaced as Lyra kicked his leg under the table, held up a hand to block her lips from Minerva and Snape, and mouthed to him: _We made another one_.

"I have yet to speak to Minister Fudge about what happened," Dumbledore continued, politely pretending not to notice. "I imagine he will either overreact or underreact to this information. Perhaps he'd accidentally broadcast it to the press, causing a nationwide panic and alerting any of Voldemort's followers. Or else he may simply not believe it and be of no help — perhaps be a nuisance, even."

"Maybe propose a more rigorous crackdown on dark objects?" Nymphadora said.

"My Muggle Protection Act barely passed as it was," said Arthur bitterly, probably thinking about how the bill was what led to this whole mess. "I don't know if the Wizengamot would go for something stricter."

"Even with that bill, we need good reason to search a wizard's home," said Kingsley. "There are also limits to the depth of the searches. A bill that gives us more freedom could go a long way to secure more dark objects, including this diary."

"I recall expressing my belief that implementing Minister Bagnold's policies during peacetime would prove rather unpopular," said Dumbledore. "People enjoy their comfort and privacy. Even taking a minute of their time during their afternoon shopping for random searches would cause grumbling."

"Even so, it would go a long way to stop the Dark Lord."

"I agree, but I would not be able to convince Cornelius, or more importantly, the majority of the Wizengamot, of such a move."

"You could send a letter out, perhaps?" Arthur said hesitantly. Dumbledore gestured at him to continue. "Well, when you send the class materials list, you could also include a description of the diary… claim it belonged to some student or another."

"I hardly think You-Know-Who is going to give up his own diary," said Nymphadora.

"No, but their family might, if they see it," said Arthur. "I know that if I saw any of my kids with a diary that I believed once belonged to some poor student's grandmother or such, then I would try to return it."

"Perhaps," Dumbledore said, lightly tapping his fingers against each other. "It may instead force Tom to further hide his diary, making it harder for us to recover. I shall keep it in mind, Arthur. Thank you."

Arthur nodded, leaning back in his chair.

"What is this thing exactly, anyway?" said Moody. "This diary, this fail-safe of his. I've heard of fail-safes — life-anchors and things like that — but one that recreates a younger version of the wizard?"

Everyone's eyes swiveled to the headmaster, watching expectantly. He placed his teacup down on the saucer and interlaced his fingers.

"That, I'm afraid, I'm not willing to disclose. Consider it an operational secret. I know I am asking for a lot," he said, holding his palms up momentarily. "But the details are something I intend to take to the grave. The method which Voldemort may have used is so unspeakably vile that I have decades ago purged the Hogwarts library of every mention of it. I do not wish to spread the knowledge any further."

Moody watched Dumbledore thoughtfully, without any of his earlier frustration. If he did have any guess as to what the headmaster was referring to, he certainly wasn't sharing; whatever it might be, he evidently agreed with the headmaster's reasoning.

"Now, allow me to enlighten you to the full purpose of this meeting. There were three primary objectives, one of which we have already fulfilled — to assess the threat of Lord Voldemort and Tom Riddle. The other two objectives were to assess the status of various factions in wizarding Britain, and for me to discuss with you the future of the Order.

"If Voldemort — either of them — returns to power, then we will undoubtedly be plunged into a second Wizarding War. I would like to discuss next the different factions that may become involved, many of which some of you are familiar with."

Dumbledore took a moment to sip his tea, before continuing.

"Several notable giant clans were allied with Voldemort, as many of you know. As such, after the end of the war, many countries, including Britain, sent dedicated kill-squads into their habitats, eroding their population, though enough remain to be a significant threat. I have spoken to Hagrid, and he believes we would not be able to ally with them. We shall see if we can at the very least convince them of neutrality, and deny Voldemort one of his most dangerous assets."

"Why are giants so dangerous anyway?" said Nymphadora. "Compared to You-Know-Who's Death Eaters, I mean," she tacked on, as everyone looked at her with an incredulous expression. "A single Death Eater could do more damage than a giant could."

"They're highly magically resistant, stupid," said Lyra. "That alone makes them not only difficult to take down but they also serve as an enormous distraction in a fight to allow those Death Eaters to do more precise work."

"They are also a threat to the Statute of Secrecy," Dumbledore said. "In the previous war they stretched the Ministry forces thin, forcing them on Obliviation duty when they could be fighting back or healing the wounded."

Nymphadora nodded, then glared at her cousin.

Dumbledore looked toward Remus. "Similarly, Voldemort recruited werewolves to further strain defending forces."

"Right," said Remus, getting some kind of hint. "For those of you that don't know, I'm a werewolf." Andromeda hid her surprise in a mask of polite disinterest; there was no need to be rude and gawk. "I have a few acquaintances with the same condition, all of them peaceful men and women. Regardless, the general atmosphere among the werewolf community in Britain is 'frustrated.' They've been discriminated against for decades, and the Fudge administration shows no promise of improvement. If the Order can pull a few strings" — he nodded to Albus — "then I think they might — _might_ — be amenable to staying neutral rather than joining the Dark Lord. Some of the younger might even be convinced to help us fight."

"Thank you for the insight, Remus," Dumbledore said, before looking to the eldest Weasley sibling. "William, you've been working with goblins."

"The goblins are neutral towards wizardkind, as always," said Bill. "They might not like us much, but they'd only ever enter the conflict if a significant number of their own were killed or grievously harmed. And even then, they'd only ever fight on their own terms and would refuse even a temporary alliance with wizards."

"Disappointing, but not unexpected," Dumbledore said. "Filius?"

"Nothing to add, really," said the diminutive professor. "He's summarized it quite nicely."

"I have not yet been summoned by the Dark Lord," said Snape. A few people looked at him warily, Moody with open distrust. "But... he knows, were I summoned, the headmaster would know of it. As such, I suspect he is either currently in a state where he cannot call upon me, or he does not want to be yet detected by the headmaster."

Dumbledore nodded, before moving on. "Brother?"

"No whispers yet about the Dark Lord," Aberforth said gruffly. "Just the usual rabble. But if he comes back, you can bet they're going straight to him. When you're good-for-nothing scum with nothing going for you, and one of the most powerful wizards in modern history tells you that you're special just for having four magical grandparents, they're going to cling to him like a drowning man to a straw."

"Thank you, brother," said Dumbledore. Aberforth grunted. "Aurors?"

"Budget cuts in recent years have not been promising," Kingsley said. "Funds are being relocated to the Department of Magical Games and Sports. The upcoming Quidditch World Cup is proving to be… logistically difficult. Especially with Bagman's spendthrift tendencies."

"Isn't that over a year away?" Sirius asked.

Kingsley shrugged languidly. "Ludovic is a… slow worker."

"Anything else?" Dumbledore asked, meeting the eyes of the other Aurors who were agreeing with Kingsley with amused nods.

Nymphadora cleared her throat and everyone looked at her. Turning slightly pink, she plowed on. "I think most of the Auror Corps are good people, but I've noticed a few bad eggs. You know, the kind of wizards or witches that don't _openly_ support pure-blood supremacy, but will avoid speaking to muggle-borns when they can get away with it."

"We shall keep this in consideration." He looked at Andromeda, but she shook her head, feeling a little embarrassed. "Sirius?"

"The Black family is richer than I thought, honestly," said Sirius. "My parents never cared to spend much, since we already had everything. There's a bit gone from the previous war, but otherwise it's just all sat in a vault at Gringotts. I might still be richer than the Malfoys, even." He shot a grin at Lyra.

"Probably, after all the things I've made my father buy me," she said.

"Ha! I hope you're beggaring him." He turned back to Dumbledore. "But yeah, in terms of finances, I don't think I can compete with _all_ the dark pure-blood families at once, but we're still decently well-off. Feel free to ask for any of it. In fact, ask me in front of my mother's portrait if you want some Black family gold."

"Yeah, the royalties from Dumbledore's chocolate frog cards just can't keep up," said Lyra.

Dumbledore's beard twitched as he fought his smile.

He continued on with a few more inputs from Mundungus and Moody, and promised to look into the leads offered by the Order members today. As people briefly stood to stretch their legs and take a break, and Molly bustled to the stove to prepare some more tea, Andromeda felt somewhat uncomfortable in her presence here.

Unlike any of the others, she didn't have any connections — she'd given those up as well as the Black name. Her daughter, she could understand, but her? She and Ted lived a quiet life in the muggle suburbs. She didn't have an impressive job. In fact, she'd been in hiding during most of the previous war. After being disowned, she didn't have material wealth that could be used to fund the war effort. In fact, Dumbledore already had Sirius, with all the Black family holdings, under his thumb.

Then Dumbledore gathered them back, and they all came back to the dining room. Everybody sat back down, except for Professor Snape who leaned on a wall in the back, and Lyra who stood behind Nymphadora's chair, hands clasped on the chair's top rail as she leaned on it. Nymphadora's hair was mostly red, but the roots were pink, meaning she wasn't really that mad about it.

"Now, my final thoughts for this meeting... the third reason I have gathered you here today," said Dumbledore, and his tone felt a little less somber and more enigmatic. "I have had time to reflect."

He let this hang in the air for a moment and he pondered his words.

"The world was not kind before Voldemort rose to power. Some of you have heard me say Voldemort was a symptom of a disease, festering in the heart of the wizarding world. I stand by it today. Our system is rotten. Our culture has for many centuries given way to prejudice and discrimination. I have never hidden my disgust at this, the way some treat muggles, muggle-borns, other intelligent species, even simple foreign magicals."

Andromeda's own family was prejudiced against any witch or wizard whose estate had not been present in Britain for a considerable time. They held some grudging respect for those rare Egyptian or Indian wizarding dynasties that lasted thousands of years, but that still didn't mean the Blacks viewed them as superiors, or even as equals.

"It is my hope," said Dumbledore, "that what remains of my influence, such as the Order, will be used for good. I have…" He hesitated here. "I have always been distasteful of throwing my name around. I have made mistakes as every person has, and even if I weren't averse to it, forcing politicians to dance to my tune would be a temporary measure at best. Instead, I had hoped to share some of my experience and wisdom with the younger, kind-hearted witches and wizards who will one day inherit our society."

He met the eyes of the younger ones in the room. Nymphadora and Bill looked intrigued but still slightly confused. Lyra, on the other hand, had a gleam in her eye.

"The Order has always been a resistance organization, an underground railroad of sorts and nothing more. But I plan to transform this secret society for an even greater purpose. The Order of the Phoenix, like its namesake, will be reborn from its ashes into something worthier: a sanctuary to those who will wield power for the better, shaping the world into a kinder place for all, where love and care triumph over fear and hate. The Order mustn't _resist_ evil; it must _prevent_ it."

Everyone watched him in silence, awed — even Snape to a degree, who had until now stood in the back looking as sullen as ever. Aberforth himself, who was always said to not care much for his brother, had a glint of respect in his eyes.

"Bring out the guillotines!" cried Lyra, holding up a fist.

Dumbledore shook his head, his solemnity fading into a small bit of exasperation.

Lyra put her fist down and smiled serenely. "Seriously, though, when are we going to take over the Ministry?"

"That," said Dumbledore, "is a matter for another day. I think we can end it here for now. I thank you all for coming."

The sound of excited murmurs filled the room, as people scraped their chairs back and stood. They seemed inclined to spend the evening here, but all Andromeda could think about was getting out of this stifling atmosphere and back into Ted's arms. Albus, who had just sent a Patronus upstairs, met her eyes and nodded respectfully, which she returned. She stopped when Nymphadora faltered however.

"Hey — mum," she said. "Is it alright if I go talk to Emmeline for a bit? We haven't had a chance to go to the pub together for _months_." She was tugging on the hand of a brown-haired Auror, who was facing in the other direction and attempting a conversation with Kingsley even as Nymphadora attempted to drag her away by the wrist.

"Of course, dear," said Andromeda. After a moment of hesitation, she pulled Nymphadora into a hug, one that made the girl blush bright red without the use of her unique abilities. For all her halfhearted complaints, though, Nymphadora embraced her back, squeezing tight, which warmed her heart.

She stepped outside the dining room, the sound of conversation dimming, and suddenly felt alone

in the unlit entrance hall all of a sudden. The portrait of Walburga Black was silent. There was a creak from the stairs, and Andromeda turned to find her younger sister, staring at her.

"Andy?" Narcissa said gently from the gloom of the afternoon.

"Narcissa," she said, feeling her heart ache.

"Merlin, you've gotten old," said Narcissa, and Andromeda gave a small laugh at the audacity of her.

"That's because I _have_ gotten old since we last spoke properly," she said, a little sharply. "We spoke last… what, four years ago?"

"I… yes," Narcissa admitted awkwardly. "How's your daughter?"

"She's well," Andromeda said, casting a look in the direction of the dining room, filled with conversation. "She graduated from the Auror academy a few months ago."

"Oh. Congratulations," Narcissa said sincerely. "You must be proud. Quite rigorous requirements for the Aurors, are there not?"

"Indeed," said Andromeda. "'Outstanding' in all prerequisite N.E.W.T.s for the Auror Corps, and top marks upon graduation as well. If only she didn't infuriate her professors and supervisors while she was at it."

Narcissa smiled softly. "Oh, I know the feeling. My daughter's constantly getting into trouble at school. Plenty enough professors have given up on disciplining her."

"From what I just saw in there, I'm not surprised," said Andromeda, teasing lightly. She sighed. "To be a child again…" Narcissa was likely thinking of a time when they weren't avoiding each other — just like Andromeda was.

"Would you like to come over for tea in the near future?" Narcissa finally said, and Andromeda looked up in shock.

"What — you'd invite _me_?"

Narcissa waved her away, attempting to be casual. "I know when my husband's busy and when he's not. I'll just invite you over when he's not around."

"Cissy, you know that's not what I mean."

Narcissa went quiet, then sighed. "You will be far more suitable for intellectual conversation than any of the Parkinsons or Notts."

At any other time, Andromeda might have denied her. As much as she longed for a larger family again, she hadn't forgotten — nor forgiven — Narcissa's betrayal. Indeed, even now, Narcissa pointedly did not apologize for her actions, taking no responsibility. But Nymphadora was, as she had proved earlier, flying from her nest. As much as she loved Ted, it still felt lonely at times. Ted would occasionally watch football or go to the pub with his own friends; Andromeda had none. Even Lyra and Sirius could only visit occasionally, each with their own things to do.

"Yes," she said finally. "I suppose I would. Where should we meet?"

"Pardon?"

"Where should we meet?" Andromeda repeated. "It's been a long time since I've been to Malfoy Manor, and I haven't told you where I live."

"Ah. Yes." Narcissa hummed, considering. "Let's just meet at the Cauldron, at noon tomorrow?"

"Very well." Andromeda gave a small smile. "It's good to see you, sister."

"You as well, Cissy."

The embrace was awkward and stiff, but it still felt rather nice.


	9. Interlude

A REPORT

By Albus P. W. B. Dumbledore, Supreme Mugwump, I.C.W.; Order of Merlin, First Class.

On

THE FUTURE OF THE INTERNATIONAL STATUTE OF SECRECY

For the International Confederation of Wizards

August 20, 1993

ALEXANDRIA, EGYPT

Modern Challenges Facing the Statute of Secrecy

_Increase in Population Disparity_

The International Statute of Secrecy was legalized on August 5th, 1692. Recently the world experienced its three-hundredth anniversary of the separation between the Mundane and Magical populations of the world. Since its inception the Statute has been amended a total of six times, five of which only narrowly passed after years of petitioning. During this time, the Mundane population has increased by approximately four and a half billion while the Magical population has only increased by a little over half a million. Mundane communities are now ever-present across the globe, and with it, an incredible scrutiny on the existence of magic.

Magical communities, which in some pre-Statute areas would have existed a day's walk from the nearest Mundane communities, now mostly sit back-to-back among all of the most advanced Mundane nations. The primary Magical British commercial centre, Diagon Alley, is located in the midst of London when previously it lay well outside the borders of Roman Londinium and Lundenburg of Wessex. This had greatly increased the sightings of magic among large numbers of Mundanes, until the Ministry was forced to fully rebuild its then rather disorganized Obliviation department.

Indeed, it was the British Ministry which created the foundation of magic to detect precisely when and where a Mundane had witnessed magic. And as time drags along, and the Mundane population further increases, methods are once again questioned and revised. The Wizarding World is certainly capable of keeping the secret, but as time passes, the efforts will eventually outweigh the benefit.

_Technological Advancements of the Mundane World_

It is no secret to even the most traditional of pure-bloods that the Mundane world has undergone a tremendous technological upheaval in recent times. Non-magical, autonomous surveillance systems have become prevalent. These surveillance systems are combined with electronic information storage mediums. Since the development of the radio, which the Magical world should be familiar with, and the television, the Mundane world has proved it can massively distribute information in a relatively short period of time.

Recently, the Mundane world experienced the launch of the Internet; think of two-way books, but connecting not just to one other book but countless — an endless amount of users and pages, where any person who purchases one may speak to anyone, or everybody. Our own magical equivalents are already used to socialize and communicate, limited though they are. Let us imagine an expansion of what we are already familiar with: every magically-connected mirror, parchment, fireplace — now linked to any other in existence with the correct configuration.

The development of the Internet may, as its creators predict, lead to a rise of more advanced socialised media. And, were information regarding magic distributed among such virtual forums, it could rapidly circulate amongst every member. The process of Obliviation suddenly becomes far more complex and difficult.

_The 1961 Nuclear Tragedy and the Future_

The 1961 Nuclear Incident was one of the most devastating attacks to wizardkind, when erroneous readings from early missile detection systems resulted in the bombardment of strategically important locations in the former USSR. One nuclear weapon was launched before wizards from MACUSA and the Union of Magical Tengri Governments were able to intervene, preventing further escalation.

Nonetheless, the missile struck, killing 400,000+ civilians, including that of 257 Magicals. What followed was the largest-scale Obliviation to have ever occurred. The method used has been classified by the ICW due to its potential for misuse and abuse. All records regarding the City That Never Was, including its people, were erased from both Mundane and Magical history. Today, opinions remain split, but it is widely agreed upon that nonaction would have resulted in nuclear war.

While effective in 1961, it is uncertain if such methods will remain effective with the over thirty years of technological advancement, and moreso in the future. As technology becomes cheaper and more widespread, Obliviators will have to contend with video footage easily submitted by concerned citizens to television and, perhaps, the Internet. If wizardkind allows the Statute to stagnate further, the coming decades will prove an immense challenge for magical governments and their Obliviators. One should not neglect preparation for comfort and tradition, lest they give way to disaster.

_The Future of the International Statute of Secrecy_

A near-future revision of the Statute is crucial. The ICW has grown complacent during the most explosive period of technological growth the world has seen. Should magic be revealed, tension will rise between our two worlds. Violence is inevitable. Historically, some Mundane dictators have attempted to exterminate perceived Magical threats, or enslave them for their own purposes.

They have been largely unsuccessful, but future large-scale conflicts will be much deadlier. Should wizardkind achieve victory anyway, it will nonetheless be a pyrrhic victory, and certainly an end for any chance of reconciliation. The likelihood of nuclear weapons being used once more, while low, pose an unacceptable risk to both Magical and Mundane ways of life, environments, and future recovery.

Furthermore, the Mundane baselessly accused of magical heritage will suffer similarly horrific fates, usually through mob justice (which, incidentally, was cause for the creation of the Statute).

In the wake of such possibilities, the Wizarding World should make strides to integrate into the Mundane world, to blur the distinction between Mundane and Magical to reduce the possibility of being identified.

Magical schools, or their respective Ministries, should create Mundane fronts. This provides every Magical student with comprehensive and entirely legal records to be presented before Mundane bureaucracy should they decide to enter the Mundane workforce or tertiary education. Magicals should receive an opportunity to learn how to drive, for example, to limit the use of Apparition or Floo.

Ideally, Magical children will be able to socialize with their Mundane neighbors, use their technology, and navigate their bureaucratic systems; these skills would be necessary to produce Magical specialists in Mundane culture and technology, to recognize the flaws in the Statute and improve on them. It not only decreases the likelihood of detection by Mundane governments, but in the future, Magicals may be able to possess a dual-citizenship of sorts, giving them much-needed allies and representation in the Mundane world.

Finally, the Wizarding World should increase communication with other sentient species. It is highly likely that were the Magical human population targeted, then the other sentient species would be as well. Communication and cooperation between various magical species may prove crucial to future survival for all. Mundane-borns will also prove effective for this role, as they have none of the biases that Magical-raised individuals have against other species, and thus will also be valuable in providing liaison with Mundane and Magical species. The seeds of coexistence should be sown before the inevitable collapse of the Statute of Secrecy, lest it bring about the end of magic.

* * *

DAILY PROPHET

The Wizard World's Beguiling Broadsheet of Choice

_SHOULD THE STATUTE BE ABOLISHED?_

_ALBUS DUMBLEDORE'S CONTROVERSIAL OPINIONS_

_On August 20th, an article was forwarded to all ICW representatives from Albus Dumbledore, the Supreme Mugwump. Titled '_ A Report on the Future of the International Statute of Secrecy _', Dumbledore advocates for the gradual deconstruction of the Statute, citing that Muggle technology has surpassed the Magical world's protections, and the costs for maintaining it are rapidly outweighing the benefits._

_The paper cites some of Dumbledore's age-old controversial opinions, such as greater diplomacy with goblins, centaurs, and giants_ — _as well as some new ones, such as suggesting the wizarding population live in Muggle settlements to 'blend in', as if he forgets notice-me-not charms existed. The current head of the Dept. of R &C of Magical Creatures, Madam Dolores Umbridge, offered her shock at the outrageous statements offered by the Hogwarts Headmaster…_

Albus Dumbledore sipped his tea.

Sometimes, the Ministry could be so predictable as to be depressing. He'd expected such backlash from the very beginning, but it was disappointing to learn that nothing had changed in the years since the first war. Although the support from various Ministries around the world — United States, Germany, France, Singapore — was surprising and welcome, it didn't outweigh the indifference or even scorn expressed by other world governments. Maybe he had laid it on too thick, exaggerated a little too much.

But, it was a good first step. Even within Britain, he didn't need to convince everyone; just enough to tip the scales, deprive the next generation of Pureblood extremists from the support necessary to facilitate their movement.

Slughorn, Selwyn, Abbott, Macmillian…

Albus folded the newspaper in half and placed it on the desk, standing up from his office chair to face the world once more.

_Your move, Tom_.


	10. 1993, August

" _Hey_."

James grumbled and buried himself deeper into his blankets. How he could wear three layers in the height of summer was beyond Lyra. Maybe it was a comfort thing, a way of coping. He still hadn't forgiven himself for his fuck-up with the Horcrux. Speaking of —

Lyra slowly lowered the locket onto the exposed part of his face, letting the unnaturally cold metal do its work. He brushed her hand and the locket away, and his eyes cracked open blearily as he attempted to focus on her.

"What?" he murmured.

"Look what I've got," she said quietly, dangling the locket above his head. "Got it just after the meeting. Kreacher loves me now. I even got him to shut that portrait up. Sirius kept wondering why it wasn't screaming every time someone made a loud noise, ha."

James hummed appreciatively and then promptly went back to sleep. Lyra grabbed him by the shoulders and jostled him until he was lucid enough to smack her hands and try to glare at her, though the effect was a little lessened by the fact that his eyelids could barely keep themselves up.

"What do you want?" he whispered, trying to rub the sleep from his eyes.

"You usually wake up early," said Lyra. "Though it baffles me why. What's the deal now?"

"I wake up at five-thirty early, not" — he fumbled for his watch — " _three-in-the-morning_ early." He glanced at Fred and George, who were still sleeping on the other end of the room.

"Don't worry, I killed them," said Lyra, shoving the pocket back into her mokeskin pouch, which she in turn shoved into her enchanted jeans pocket.

"Oh..."

"Come on." Lyra snapped her fingers at him. "Do you want to come with me to Little Hangleton?"

"Little Hangleton?" he said sleepily, sitting up in bed. "Why do you need me?"

"The _ring_ , man," said Lyra. "I'm going to fetch it. And, you know, it might kill me. I checked out the Gaunt shack a few days ago."

James stared at her, looking wholly unimpressed and maybe a little miffed.

"You've fetched the locket _and_ went to the Gaunt shack?" he said. "Why don't you ever tell me all the shit going on inside your head?"

"I don't think you want to know everything going on up there."

This time James really did glare. "I meant regarding this stuff!" He rubbed his eyes again and swung his feet off the bed. "For once, I'd like to be tuned in to the barely-functioning cogs working inside your addled mind."

Lyra shrugged as she took a step back to allow room for him to stand up. "Well, you'll be really tuned in soon. Besides, I thought you deserved a bit of a break."

"Oh, so being in the know is too much but going to the place that killed Dumbledore is quite all right?"

"You don't have to come at all," said Lyra, watching as he gathered a ragtag collection of clothes from his trunk or from the floor.

" _I'm coming_ ," said James, heading for the door. "Just let me shower first." Then he paused and turned back. "What do you mean I'll be really tuned in soon?"

There was only one light visible in Little Hangleton as they came upon it. The small village rested between two steep hills. On one of them sat the Riddle House. Down its slope was the graveyard, and beside it the small cottage with a little light. Frank Bryce, no doubt.

Lyra hung in the cold morning sky, feet dangling off her Nimbus as she watched the village below, waiting for James to catch up. It would never not be surreal, seeing these fictional places in reality. She could go and talk to Frank Byrce right now if she wanted, the old man who Voldemort had so callously murdered. Or she could set the Riddle House ablaze.

The sound of a raven's caw broke the silence, and James darted by Lyra's head as he dove straight down, swooping low and skimming the grass of the valley. She rushed after him, the two shooting past Frank Bryce's home, past the graveyard, and up and around the hill the Riddle House was built upon, until at last they came to slow before the woods. James morphed back into human form as he landed, kicking up a bit of dust. Lyra landed more softly and put her broom in a pocket.

It was dark out, and the moon illuminated little. In front of them was the forest the Gaunt Shack was nestled in, and a narrow dirt path lay feet from them. They turned their heads slowly, following with their eyes the trail that led to Dumbledore's doom. It eventually disappeared into wild hedges and crooked trees.

"This place is terrifying," said James. "Once we're out of here, I'm going to write a creepypasta about it."

It was his way of making light of the situation, but Lyra knew he was just as disturbed as her; she had entangled their minds back at Grimmauld, where the presence of adults stopped the Ministry from properly detecting underage magic. Here, though, in this wizardless valley, they would know. It was only a question of how quickly they'd come to investigate.

Now, Lyra could loosely hear and feel James' thoughts, and vice versa. She figured (hoped) it would serve a layer of protection against the magic that had caused Dumbledore to so foolishly put on that cursed Ring. Maybe two minds linked together would withstand its effects. Or maybe they'd both die anyway, being pierced by the malevolent trees' branches, eaten alive by nameless things, swallowed whole by the house itself to never be seen again in the day of light —

"Stop thinking about all the horrible ways we can die," she snapped.

"You never go into the creepy forest, Lyra, especially not at night," said James. "The best way of staying alive is to sit in your cabin, ignoring all the footsteps, the animal noises, and scratching sounds outside, and pray to a god you don't believe in that the sun rises soon."

"Maybe I should have taken my mother," murmured Lyra, struggling to take a first step on the jagged path.

"I'm sure your mother has lost friends and relatives, from the previous war and all that," said James. "She'd be more susceptible to the Stone than I am." He glanced at her. "You haven't —"

"No," said Lyra, hearing the thought before he spoke. "There's no one dead I'd particularly want to see."

"That's reassuring," said James. "Remember, the people you miss aren't dead — in fact, they may not even be born yet, meaning the Resurrection Stone is useless for us."

It sounded to Lyra like he was saying that as much for himself as for her.

Lyra closed her eyes and sighed. All these years flaunting about her skill, and here she was too frightened to make a move toward that waiting shack in the woods.

"We can hold hands, if that helps," said James, only slightly teasing.

"If something swallows you whole, you're not taking my hand with you."

"Fine," said James, before gesturing elaborately. "Ladies first?"

Whatever. She threw her fears into the back of her mind and followed the path. One thing comforted her: it wasn't likely any of Riddle's protections would be set outside the shack; he wouldn't have wanted any muggles to be cursed or killed and for the Ministry to come snooping.

As they ventured into the woods, the vegetation became more, indeed, gaunt: twisting, spiralling towards the sky, the canopy thick enough to blot out the moon. The sound of chirping insects faded away into nothing with alarming suddenness.

"I don't like this," James said. "But I don't know if those are my actual feelings or if I'm being affected by some spell."

Lyra said nothing as she pushed through the foliage. It was nearly pitch-black here, and if she hadn't been a cat Animagus, giving her the ability to see in the dark when she wished, she knew she'd see nothing.

Then she stopped as she saw the shack, and James stopped too, before he saw it — because he knew she had seen it.

The Gaunt shack could barely be called a ruin, for that implied some measure of previous worth, or at least a subtle charm. No, the Gaunt shack was merely a wreck. Only the stone foundations stood steady, while a heavy branch falling from a tree had caved in a portion of the roof. The walls themselves were close to collapse, the surfaces peeling away to rot, and it was only the support of twisting vines and the adolescent tree growing through one wall that kept it upright.

"Jesus Christ," James said, recoiling in shock and disgust.

"What?"

"Don't you smell it?"

Lyra sniffed, and caught the faintest traces of iron in the air, growing stronger with each step forward. Blood, then, quite old. James' senses had seemed keener ever since attaining his Animagus form, reflecting Lyra's own experiences.

"Oh, that's just _lovely_ ," said James.

Lyra followed his line of sight. The object of his attention was the carcass of a common grass snake, one unnervingly recent. Hanging over the doorknob, perhaps the only piece of the shack that wasn't yet made completely useless with decay, the snake was gorging on its own tail in some twisted self-sacrifice, its body withered after death.

"Look," said James, gesturing. More snakes, these much older judging by the state they were in, but they too had died choking on their own tails. It seemed like they'd starved to death, consuming themselves in their own hunger, despite the small mountain of once-perfectly edible animal carcasses piled around the Gaunt shack. Rodents, birds, and amphibians were left untouched despite their death.

"Some spell over the area, I'm guessing," said Lyra, squatting down before the nearest carcass and staring at it. The whole scene was disturbing.

"What now?" said James.

"I'll go first," said Lyra, standing back up. "If there's some spell of compulsion, one that leads to" — she gestured at the dead animals — " _that_ , then you pull me out."

"No," said James stiffly. "Let me."

Lyra frowned, then. "What if our mind-link just makes me do the same thing here?"

"What, begin eating your own feet?"

"What a shitty way to die."

They stood there for a moment, and then James carefully stepped over the rotting carcasses of the small animals. Lyra felt nothing on her side of the link.

Slowly, James nudged open the door with his foot, unwilling to touch it. The door creaked and shuddered, eventually falling off its hinges entirely, crashing into the mold-covered floor. James cringed as he looked back at her. Lyra made her way slowly to him, her wand held steady, wondering if something would burst from the ground at them, or from the tree branches, or from within the house itself —

" _Focus_ ," hissed James.

She grimaced. "Sorry."

As she stood some feet away from him, James carefully peered inside, his wand in one hand and his goblin-silver dagger in the other, before he stepped fully within the shack. A moment passed in strained silence, and some of the tension coming through the link bled away.

 _All good so far_ , came his thoughts, and Lyra followed him within.

"Under the floorboards somewhere," she said, "but carefully."

James crouched low to the ground, crinkling his nose at the infestation of mold, and searched for any roughed-up floorboards. Which, frankly, was most of them.

Lyra was about to transform into her Animagus form, to better sniff out the location of the Horcrux, but James latched onto the thought and held up a hand.

"What if whatever kills those animals outside will affect you in your cat form?" he said.

Lyra hesitated. "We keep our human minds as animals... but... yeah, let's not."

Then she had to stop James as she heard the incantation in his head.

" _Stop_ ," she said, and he stilled. "No spells, not unless we need to."

"Right," James said. "The Ministry."

Thankfully for them, the shack itself was not particularly big: it had three separate rooms, two of them used as bedrooms and the last one being a living room and kitchen with a cracked ceramic stove.

James stared at it for a moment, and through their linked minds Lyra could feel a pull, a spark of curiosity.

" _Hey_ ," she said as James approached the oven and knelt down in front of it. "James —"

"Relax," he said, waving a hand.

Lyra quickly approached, putting her own hand on his shoulder, and peered into the oven. It was hard to make out in the dark. James used a long stick to carefully remove the object of his attention from the soot-lined oven.

A small snake statue... small enough to fit on the palm of her hand, carved from black stone.

An ouroboros — just like the sacrificed snakes outside, the serpent biting its own tail, trapping it within itself. While somewhat faded, the details were precise enough to be seen after all this time — the blind eyes, the scales, on each of which a different rune of unknown origin was carved. James poked it some more with the stick, brushing off the soot that covered it. There was nothing terrible about its appearance... and yet...

Lyra felt the hairs on her arms stand on end as she looked at it, though she couldn't understand why, and then the link between their minds seemed to shudder, as if ready to snap and send their minds careening into an abyss.

"I suppose I should've expected something like this," whispered James. "Hogwarts is only the family-friendly side of a fantasy world, I suppose."

"Put it away," said Lyra, disturbed. "That thing's not normal — not even for us."

James pulled out a golden box from the mokeskin pouch Lyra had gifted him and carefully settled the statue inside.

"You're going to keep that thing?" she hissed. "Was one mind-fucking artifact not enough for you?"

"I'm not going to mess with this," said James. "The sheer disgust this thing inspires in me will keep me away, if nothing else."

"Then why keep it _at all_?"

James stared at the statue, ancient and dark. "There are things out there worse than just evil wizards, I think," he said quietly. "And I think you know what I'm thinking about."

Lyra did. She had read hints of eldritch things in old tomes. Deep in the Malfoy library lay forbidden texts that whispered forgotten languages in the corners of her mind. There had always been a darker, more sinister side to the wizarding world, Lyra knew, things beyond simple evil. Dementors alone were evidence of this; wizards didn't even like to think about them.

What else lay out there, otherworldly and unnatural even for the magical world...

"Maybe I'll give this to the Unspeakables," said James. "Their purpose seems suited to studying this sort of thing."

As he closed the lid, the dread subsided considerably, and they sighed in relief.

"Christ," said James, sagging slightly. "Is this the kind of stuff they keep in the Department of Mysteries?"

"Probably — just look at the Veil and what that does to people," said Lyra. "C'mon. I don't want to be here any longer than I have to."

He nodded in reply, and they slowly made their way through the rubble. James entered one room and Lyra another — and she found herself immediately regretting it as the scent of a deeper rot invaded her nostrils. Perhaps that was why James had subtly avoided this room. Still, she searched, and found nothing.

Meanwhile, James searched what appeared to be Merope Gaunt's former room. A shattered bedframe and a bedside table missing two legs seemed to be all the furniture she truly had. A tattered straw doll was dressed in a faded dress. After a moment of contemplation, he picked it off the floor and propped it up against the lone surviving pillow, avoiding looking at the unnaturally wide, childish smile stitched onto its face, likely by Merope herself.

He searched beneath the bedframe and found a relatively undamaged yet loose floorboard. He peeled it back and found a small golden box, just the right size to fit a ring within. Before he could call to Lyra, she entered the room, having sensed his mixture of triumph and fear.

"I can feel it calling to me already," he said grimly. "Good thing I have practice fending off Dark Lords assaulting my mind." He idly slapped away Lyra's wandering hand. "Contain thyself."

Lyra looked at her own hand as if she had never seen it before. "I didn't even mean to do that..."

"I knew you were going to even if you didn't mean to though, so I think the mind-link works," said James. "I think we should just stab the thing straight through the box. Goblin-silver should be sharp enough to do just that."

James looked at his dagger for a moment, and pressed the tip against the surface of the box. He glanced at Lyra, who shrugged, and then pushed down with all his strength.

Metal parted like water. A loud _snap_ signified the destruction of the ring, and a faint sizzling from the basilisk venom. A faint wailing like a banshee in the far distance could be heard — or perhaps that was a figment of a hyperactive imagination. Lyra and James looked at each other uncomfortably, until silence descended upon the abandoned building once more.

James sheared off the box lid with his dagger, before shaking out its contents. The Gaunt family ring fell out, sizzling. James flipped it over with the knife, and sliced it into tiny bits. The horcrux, and whatever curse was laid on it, was clearly destroyed.

"Just be careful," said Lyra, and she knew James could feel her tension. "It seems too easy."

"Yeah," James said quietly. He picked up a fragment of the ring, with no consequence. He began prying off the embedded stone using his dagger. The object fell into his palm, and he slipped it and the ruined gold box inside the mokeskin pouch.

Lyra sighed and rubbed her face with a hand. This trip had been short but exhausting. She shook her head and looked up —

And she screamed, a cry of such deep terror that it shook James to his bones — or maybe it was her own horror seeping into his mind — something was behind him, something was looming over his shoulder —

He spun around, scrambling backward with his wand in his hand, scanning the scene as best he could in the dark. But nothing was there. Merope's doll continued to sit innocuously on the bed. He let out a harsh breath of relief and turned back to Lyra, ready to kill her if she was making a joke.

"I saw something," said Lyra, her voice trembling as she too pointed a wand in the dark corner of the room. "I swear to fucking god I saw something, James."

He looked back and still saw nothing. But he believed her; the sheer terror he had felt through their link couldn't be faked, unless she had grown particularly proficient in Legilimency; and maybe she had, but a joke like this would be too far over the line, even for her.

"Let's get out of here," he said, standing upright. "Come on. It might've just been the Horcrux playing one last trick on us."

He pulled her along to the doorway, pushing her through as she continued to stare wide-eyed at the corner of the room. Once she was out, she closed her eyes and took a deep breath, and then he took one last glance behind him. His blood ran cold as it drained from his face.

In the corner stood a shadowed figure, a woman, her dark hair hanging as loose and limp as her head did. Her face was shrouded in hair and darkness, and the only visible stretch of skin he could see were her hands, the skin pale as her fingers twisted in all directions, utterly and horrifically broken. Something dripped onto the ground between her legs.

Lyra gripped his shoulder and pulled him back, staring too at the specter. Then confusion set in, bleeding through the link into his mind. Confusion turned to some sort of realization, followed by pity. James glanced back at her in question.

"Come on," she said quietly, pulling him out of the room. "Let's go. She won't hurt us."

"Do you think —?" he said, glancing back at the doorway, though the woman was no longer visible from his angle.

"Yeah, I think it's her," said Lyra, a rare sorrow in her voice.

" _Christ_ ," said James heavily as he exited the house.

When they were both outside and away from the shack, they took one last glance at it. Where the front door had been now stood the ghostly figure of the woman again, haunted in death by her family's cruelty. A breath of wind swept past them, as if a sigh of relief.

* * *

Some time later, down south where the evil of the Gaunts didn't haunt the very wind, James and Lyra walked through the streets around Grimmauld Place. Lyra never much liked wandering around London. It was so clearly _90s_ that it induced almost nothing but surreality and existential dread. She couldn't get it out of her head that she wasn't supposed to be here in this time.

"McDonald's?" said James, elbowing her and pointing to the restaurant set up in between two other shops. "Christ. I haven't had McDonald's since negative twenty-seven years ago."

"Why?" said Lyra, frowning.

"My new mum's a bit of a health nut."

"Hm. I brought my mum to one a few years ago. She hated it."

"And what about the rest of your family?" James asked, making his way toward the restaurant.

"Dad and Draco would've never even considered it," said Lyra. "I've only ever managed to turn their prejudice from active hatred to passive distaste. Dad doesn't even care that I'm spending so much of my summer at Grimmauld."

"I suppose McDonald's wouldn't actually help in that regard either," said James.

"Mum was still willing to try it, at least. She actually loves muggle movies, even if she hates to admit it."

"What's her favorite, then?" asked James. "Does she watch sappy rom-coms? Will she watch 50 Shades when it comes out?"

"I hope not," said Lyra, opening the restaurant door for him. "I hope I can get her into the Marvel movies or something."

The employees inside looked like they'd rather dunk their heads into the frying oil than serve two teenagers so early in the morning, so the two of them paid with a tenner and politely requested they keep the change for themselves. They found a secluded but well-lit area near the corner of the store, next to a large window looking out at the city slowly coming to life.

"A Big Mac meal for two pounds," said James later, when he had finished his meal. "Can you believe it?"

Lyra shrugged, her cheeks full with grease and cholesterol. "Dunno."

"Even considering inflation, that's still... Actually, I have no idea. But it's still gotta be less than it was in 2020, without considering shrinkflation on top of that." James hummed. "Have we got any other plans?"

Lyra swallowed her food. "We've got all the Horcruxes we can get. I still need to figure out what to do with the diadem, and we can only wait with the diary. Nagini doesn't exist. I'm having Dobby destroy Señor Riddle's bones."

"Señor Riddle," James repeated, trying to keep his face straight. "And I suppose Barty Crouch Jr. shouldn't be a problem without Pettigrew around."

"Unless Riddle fished around your head and found out about him," said Lyra, wiping her mouth with a napkin and giving him a pointed look. "Something needs to be done about him."

"I'm not sure how we could possibly bring down _the_ Barty Crouch, though," said James. "If anything, canon understated how influential he is."

Lyra ran her tongue over her teeth, then gave a noncommittal jerk of her head. "I could probably convince Dobby to assassinate him."

"Crouch Jr. also has a house-elf watching him. I assume they'd cancel out."

"I'd put money down on Dobby," said Lyra, shrugging a shoulder and looking as though she was seriously offering a bet.

"Fair. He _is_ very trigger-happy."

"I suppose we can get him at the Quidditch World Cup, if we want to risk a year." She sighed wearily. "I'm not even sure if Dumbledore would believe us. Maybe. But he'd also ask how the fuck we knew even if he did. And it's not like Amelia Bones can just raid Crouch's home without a warrant."

"It'll have to be the World Cup, then," said James. "I don't see any opportunity to snag Junior before that. You'd have to get me a top box ticket — for me, a notorious Quidditch-hater. We'll see how that plays out."

"Might just toss Crouch Jr. out of that top box," said Lyra.

"We could make it look like he was being affected by the Veela," said James, then he slightly grimaced. "God, I hope I don't make a fool of myself."

A smile slowly grew on Lyra's lips.

"What?" said James. "Thinking about meeting Fleur? _Again_ ," he muttered.

Lyra scrunched up her used napkin and threw it at him. "No, it's just been a while since I've done something like this," she said. "Junk food early in the morning after a night of fun."

" _Fun_ ," James sighed.

"Brings me back to my _other_ birthdays." Lyra's lips twisted with a mixture of fondness and regret.

"I thought you didn't care for your birthdays?" said James.

"I don't _now_. It's just weird to celebrate a same birthday twice."

"Enjoy it while you can. Personally, I felt watching Terminator 2: Judgment Day in a proper theater was fucking amazing."

"I can't wait til Lord of the Rings comes out in theaters again," said Lyra. "If only I could've been born a bit earlier — I would have prolonged Tolkien's life."

James smiled. "That's nice."

"Would've locked him up in my basement to forever write new material."

"It's okay, you still have an opportunity to do that with George R.R. Martin."

"At the very least, I can't allow season eight to happen again."

"Do you reckon they'll let me audition for Ned Stark?"

Lyra laughed, imagining goofy James Stark as Ned.

"You would actually make a half-decent Daenerys," said James. "You have the right hair color, at least. You just need colored contacts."

"Self-Transfiguration — I'll pretend it's natural. They'll have to hire me."

"Use the Flame-Freezing Charm and set yourself on fire to prove you're a Targaryen," said James. "It'll be hilarious. I'll get myself beheaded as well."

Lyra laughed again, this time louder.

They both lapsed into pleasant silence for a moment. There was only the sound of a car passing by outside, and the two employees chatting to themselves in the back. A moment of surreality hit her again, with the 90s aesthetic and all this talk.

"What if we get tossed into that universe next?" said Lyra casually. "Wanna fuck up Westeros together?"

"Only if we get to keep our magic," said James, shuddering. "The life expectancy of even the nobility there is not something to be admired. If we do, though, maybe I'll crown myself God-King of Beyond the Wall, build Barad-dûr on the Fist of the First Men, pervert Luna into a sex-crazed caricature of herself and commit a genocide or two."

"Barad-dûr..." said Lyra idly, pointedly ignoring all that. "Now that'd be a nice place to retire."

"Careful you don't cut yourself on that edge."

"No," chuckled Lyra. "I mean Middle-earth. The Shire, Rohan, Rivendell, Lothlórien... Man, that'd be amazing — if we kept our magic, at least."

James snorted. "That's a given."

"Mm," said Lyra, looking around the restaurant and out the windows. "I've been thinking, we should get Harry a birthday present."

"Like what?" said James, before pausing thoughtfully. "Considering his relatives, I think good clothes might be a good idea."

"Yeah. He's outgrown most of his clothes, it looks like. And he has no sense of fashion, although that's probably not his fault." Lyra glanced at James. "You, though, have no excuse."

"I dress fine," James grumbled.

"On the few occasions you deign to put effort into your look, maybe." She reached over and plucked at James' sleeve. "What do you call this?"

"You can't wear anything other than a tactical turtleneck when you're on a covert mission," said James. "The tactleneck, if you will."

"And cargo pants," said Lyra, trying to hold back a grimace.

"Stark," he said, his voice purposely gravelly. "James Stark."

The grimace came out fully.

"Speaking of presents," said James, "you ever get Lucius to buy you that Firebolt?"

"No," snorted Lyra. "Bastard says I've spent too much of his galleons. As if. He'd be repaying his debt to society by buying me it, you know."

"What, by terrorizing the other players even more on the Quidditch pitch?"

"It's not my fault I'm the best player in Hogwarts."

A sly grin crept up on James' face and Lyra eyed him warily.

"You know, Harry's getting closer and closer to beating you with every game —"

"Shut up."

"It's only a matter of time!" said James. "Especially since Sirius was hinting that he'd ordered a Firebolt for him. But at least you kept Draco off the team. How's he doing anyway?"

Lyra shrugged. "Same old. Tamer than he was in the books, still an asshole."

"I'm surprised he didn't end up worse with your influence," said James. "I was expecting him to be an unholy cross of a trust fund baby and a zoomer."

"I'm not that bad," Lyra protested. James' raised eyebrow told her what he thought of that statement.

"How rich are the Malfoys, anyway?"

"Armand Malfoy was William the Conqueror's favored court wizard," Lyra said. "The Malfoys have been close with English kings and queens up until the Statute. How rich do you think we are?"

"Fair enough."

"Meanwhile, you were born a filthy muggle-born," Lyra said, turning her nose up at him. "Compared to us, you're practically a peasant."

"Not for long," James said. "We're not exactly poor, by any means, and I've already invested in companies I know are going to make it big, convinced my parents to as well. Apple, Microsoft, and in a couple of years, I'll invest in Amazon and Google. I've turned the rest of my cash into precious metals so it doesn't lose value through inflation."

"If you're so confident you'll make it rich, you can be my treasurer for my world conquest."

"Oh, hush," said James. "You'd be doing the world a favor if you tore down old class barriers by redistributing Malfoy wealth instead."

"It would certainly be better than what ol' Dad is doing now," she said. "He collects dark artifacts like other people collect stamps or coins. It's not really as if he even uses them."

"Everyone needs a hobby, I guess," said James. "Besides, you're hardly one to complain about your dad collecting trophies."

"Unlike Lucius, I plan to actually _use_ the Philosopher's Stone," said Lyra. "If I could figure out how."

"If you can figure it out," said James. "Will you ever?"

Lyra gave him a dirty look. "Of course I will."

James looked down at his soda cup. "All plastic," he muttered, setting it on the edge of the table. "The plastic problem was going to be a thing in the future, wasn't it? Well, it already is, but it's going to get even worse."

"Yeah," said Lyra, staring at the cup as James pointed his finger at it. "What are you doing?"

"Trying to wandlessly vanish it," said James. "No traces of microplastics left if I vanish it, yes?"

"Show off."

James narrowed his eyes at the cup, as if that would do anything. He waggled his fingers with malicious intent, but nothing happened.

"You're an idiot."

"Professor Vector doesn't think so," said James. "She thinks I'm Merlin come again."

"And Snape thinks you're the Antichrist."

James snorted.

"Honestly, that man," said James. "Which is more likely: that every Gryffindor, Ravenclaw, and Hufflepuff is a spawn of Satan — or that Snape himself is the arsehole?"

"Who cares — I've dealt with worse online. Some of the reviewers on my stories were real dipshits."

"And worse writers," added James, and blinked. Lyra turned to look at the plastic cup, half of which had simply disappeared as if it had been sheared off with a laser. Half-melted ice cubes spilled out from the gaping wound and all over the table.

"Terrible effort, really," said Lyra.

"I would call this half a success," said James. He ran his fingers through the space the cup had occupied until a moment ago, finding no resistance. "Yeah... I _can_ be pretty amazing, can't I?"

"Oh, yeah. If Vector were here right now she'd be a literal fountain."

"Vector is not in love with me," said James. "If she was, she'd have said so. She's a very straightforward woman. I always liked that about her."

"Are _you_ in love with Vector?"

"If I were born thirty years earlier, then maybe," he said. "Have you seen her Head Girl photos? You'd like her too. She looked kind of like Keira Knightly, no joke."

Lyra raised an eyebrow.

"And what does she look like now?"

"A slightly older Keira Knightly who let herself go a bit."

Lyra handed him her trash. "Vanish this, then yourself."

James placed it next to the semi-vanished cup and wiggled his fingers above them. Lyra wanted to sigh at his idiocy, if it weren't for the fact that he _had_ been successful before, even if only partially.

"We might as well get our shopping done today," said James, focusing on the rubbish. "Do you know Harry's sizes?"

"I can guess, and if we accidentally buy a size bigger, well, he'll grow into them," said Lyra. "He's been growing like a weed these past few years."

James snapped his fingers in triumph and Lyra turned to look. The only evidence that the McDonald's waste was ever there was a slightly damp puddle from where the ice had melted. Lyra whistled lowly while James grinned.

" _God_ , I'm good."

"Your turn," said Lyra. "Erase yourself from existence. I dare you."

"Nah. I don't want to accidentally only vanish half of myself like I did that cup," said James, and shuddered. "Let's go, in case the Ministry shows up."

They stood up, finished with their meal and blatant disregard of the Statute just as a few early-rising construction workers came in to order coffees. They stepped outside; the sun had risen high enough that they could feel its warmth for the first time this morning.

"Do you want to watch me fly to the Tower of London and sing God Save the Queen?" said James.

"And have you make the local paper again? Please stop bringing attention to yourself."

"They really liked my performance," he said. "You read that article, right? They used words like 'adorable' and 'highly talented.' Nobody's ever called me that while I'm in human form."

"Not true," said Lyra, pulling him along to a clothing shop. "Tonks said you were cute and magically impressive."

" _Really_ ," said James. "Is this one of those things where you tell me someone said something they didn't so I go and do something about it only for me to humiliate myself?"


	11. Interlude 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> U̦̠͙̼̿͝N͓̲͇͈̲̥̋̾̏͜S͐̓ͧ͂͛͡P̠̘̰ͨ̍ͣ̉E̘̰̪̤̗ͬͅA̡̹̯ͮK̶̐ͨ̓ͅÂ͋͆̾ͫ̊B̞̤͈͎̆L̹̩̯̋ͣ͌ͫ̌E̼̾͂͊̆͆͊̕ ̶͔̎͋́̾̅̅R̠̼ͣ̍̎̍̉̆Ḛ̞͚͍̖̹̯P̶̤͈̫͔͔̈̒ͦ̆̓̌̚ͅỎ̼̹͖̀ͫR̴ͩͦ̂ͥ͆ͮ̌T̝̞̰̅

UNSPEAKABLE # 1067

SECURITY: Level five security. Authorized for the eyes of Special Research personnel and Regional Security Directors only.

CLASS: Object; Safe, Occult.

HAZARDS: Physical Manipulation, Zoological; Mental Compulsion, Aura.

PROTOCOL: The following protocols are to be followed in the handling of Unspeakable #1067.

The permanent containment of #1067 is to be managed in a Standard Aureate Containment Cell, size Small (Alexandrian Standard, Grade 3).

The usage of #1067 for experimental purposes is to be conducted with full-body covering, including Aureate Dragonhide Gloves (Baghdad Standard, Grade 3), and Occlumentic Local Effect Nonsensicality System (International Standard, Grade 3).

The usage of #1067 for experimental purposes should be performed by researchers with International Occlumentic Certification of Rank 6 or higher.

The usage of #1067 for experimental purposes should be performed within Grade D or higher Unspeakable Testing Chambers.

DESCRIPTION

Unspeakable #1067 is a stone statue of an ouroboros (a circular symbol depicting a snake or dragon biting its own tail). #1067 has a diameter of five point four (5.4) to six point one (6.1) centimetres. It is made of what appears to be black stone, matte. It is weathered, placing the object at an age of at least several thousand years.

#1067 was discovered in ██████████████████, Great Britain on ██████, 19█. The discoverers were two British magicals, ███████ and ███████, at the time students of ████████████████████████. They were mostly unaffected by #1067 at the time of discovery due to their Occlumentic proficiency and readiness. They placed #1067 in an ornamental gold snuffbox, which replicated the effects of an Alexandrian Standard Aureate Containment Cell, Grade 4.

INTERVIEW

 _This interview took place on_ ██████ _, 19_ _G_ _. Unspeakable Operatives_ ████████BR-144 _and_ ██████BR-162 _interviewed subject_ ███████ _,_ SB-129 _._ ███████ _declined an interview._

BR-162: Good afternoon, ████. My name is ███ and this is my colleague ███. I'll be handling the interview today, and he'll be taking notes for the most part. You are free to decline to answer any questions, just say so and we'll move on. Otherwise, it would be very helpful if you could answer as many as you can.

SB-129: All right.

BR-162: In that case, let's begin. This is Unspeakables BR-162 and BR-144 with Subject SB-129. Today is the ██████, 19█. This interview is conducted in Interview Room 2, Department of Mysteries, Ministry of Magic, London. Please state your name and date of birth for the record.

SB-129: My name is ███████, and I was born on ██████, ███.

BR-162: Thank you. Then let's get right into it. When did you discover the object, Unspeakable #1067?

SB-129: I found it two days ago.

BR-162: And where did you find it?

SB-129: It was in an abandoned shack in a village called ████████.

BR-162: Could you describe the scene in which you found it?

SB-129: It was in a really old shack made of wood. It clearly hadn't been lived in for some time. A portion of the roof had caved in, and a tree was growing straight through one wall. What was left of the shack was rotting and was about to collapse. And outside…

BR-162: Yes?

SB-129: There were all these snakes. All native, non-magical species, I think. Thing is, they were all eating their own tails, like the statue. Despite the fact that there was a small mountain of the carcasses of small animals, like squirrels or rats or toads or small birds. They'd clearly dragged all this perfectly edible food and piled it up into a hill, and then starved themselves anyway. Some of the snakes were mummified, and others were a lot more recent.

BR-162: I see. And inside?

SB-129: Fairly normal, I guess. Things were ruined, but I think that's just a product of time. A few bedrooms and a kitchen. The kitchen had a clay oven, and that's where I found the statue.

BR-162: Did you feel anything when you first saw it?

SB-129: A feeling of… unease? Dread? Like something bad was going to happen, I guess.

BR-162: Did you react in any way to this feeling?

SB-129: Not really. I've been practicing Occlumency. I recognized that it was a foreign sensation, so I did my best to shut myself off. It worked somewhat, I think.

BR-162: Did your companion react in any way?

SB-129: Same thing. ███ told me to put it away immediately, said it wasn't normal — even for us wizards.

BR-162: Did you, at any point, touch the object with your bare skin?

SB-129: No, I used a pair of sticks like chopsticks. I never touched it myself, even with gloves.

BR-162: You say you placed this inside a gold box?

SB-129: Yeah, this ornamental thing. I think it's called a snuffbox? It was made of gold, and we knew that gold is the most magically resistant metal, so we made sure to carry plenty of it.

BR-162: Interesting. Did you know that #1067 was going to be there? Is that why you brought it?

SB-129: To the first question, no, I didn't know it would be there. I am going to decline answering the second question.

_BR-144 notes that SB-129 appeared nervous when declining. He concludes that SB-129 had an ulterior motive, which may not be moral or legal._

BR-162: That's okay. You're allowed to decline any question. So, after you recovered #1067, what happened?

SB-129: Well… we looked around for a bit and got out. ███ screamed then, all of a sudden, and she swore she'd seen something. I looked, but nothing was there, so I dragged her out. I looked back again, and I saw it this time. It was… what do you even call that? I'd call her a ghost, but it looked nothing like the █████ ghosts.

BR-162: And how did it look?

SB-129: It was wearing a white robe. Dark hair that covered their whole face, hanging down their front. They had badly injured hands, twisted and broken and bruised. They were bleeding from between their legs.

BR-162: What did you do then?

SB-129: We ran. We stopped outside only to look back. We saw her again in the doorway. Then we left.

 _Note: One of the last former residents of the building,_ █████████ _, supposedly died from childbirth._

EXPERIMENTAL PROCESS

Two experiments were conducted on #1067, to determine the level of zoological physical manipulation.

A variety of non-magical snakes were placed in glass habitats. The snake variety included:

Grass snake ( _Natrix natrix_ ), male, adult

Grass snake ( _Natrix natrix_ ), female, adult

Grass snake ( _Natrix natrix_ ), male, juvenile

Grass snake ( _Natrix natrix_ ), female, juvenile

Green anaconda ( _Eunectes murinus_ ), male, adult. Largest snake species.

Barbados threadsnake ( _Tetracheilostoma carlae_ ), male, adult. Smallest snake species.

King cobra ( _Ophiophagus hannah_ ), male, adult. Largest venomous species.

The individuals were placed in a circle surrounding a pedestal with #1067. An assortment of prey species, including lesser mammals and amphibians, were allowed to roam in their artificial habitats. Using barriers, the individuals were unable to see, hear, or smell each other. They were also prevented from seeing or smelling #1067. They were left to their own devices, with researchers checking in every half-hour.

RESULTS: Every single individual, without fail, starved themselves to death, biting its own tail in a manner reminiscent of the #1067 itself as well as the account given by SB-129. In each case, prey species were killed but were not consumed. The individuals stacked the corpses of its prey along the side of their habitat facing #1067 and allowed them to decompose. Meanwhile, they starved to death over a period of between four days to six months, while biting their own tail. No unknown magical signatures were discovered. The cause is unknown.

A variety of magical snakes were placed in glass habitats. The snake variety included:

Ashwinder ( _Cinisas phoenicis_ ), adult, male

Ashwinder ( _Cinisas phoenicis_ ), adult, female

Ashwinder ( _Cinisas phoenicis_ ), juvenile, male

Ashwinder ( _Cinisas phoenicis_ ), juvenile, female

Common boomslang ( _Atheris virga_ ), adult, female

Runespoor ( _Magicerastes cerberus_ ), adult, male

Basilisk ( _Magicerastes rex_ ), adult, female, blind

The individuals were contained in reinforced glass habitats in much the same situation as with non-magical snakes. The habitat included prey species and native flora.

RESULTS: All individuals killed any prey species they found and presented it in the direction of #1067. Afterwards, the ashwinder and boomslang individuals attempted to starve themselves, biting their own tails. The runespoor's three heads appeared to get into a fight, and the right head destroyed both the left and middle head, taking severe damage in the process; it died shortly after from its wounds. The basilisk appeared to be the only individual unaffected by the aura of starvation. It remained mostly immobile and curled up, as if sleeping.

On the third day however, the basilisk became mobile again and ████████████████, ████████████████████████, ████████████████████████. ████████, ██████████████████████████████.

No further research involving basilisks and Unspeakable #1067 in close proximity is to be conducted.

DISCUSSION:

Unspeakable #1067 is believed to be one of many artifacts created in worship of an ancient wyrm deity. This includes Unspeakables #120, #442, #489, #606, #721, and #903. The wyrm deity possesses many names depending on region, such as ██████ and █████████, and possesses the ELDER classification Unspeakable Entity #023. ELDER research indicates the presence of UE#023 is present on alternate Earths and non-human civilizations, making it an extremely far-reaching and dangerous power. Compiled accounts from worshippers or observers of the religion indicate that the UE#023 has existed before life on Earth and is, according to some, destined to bring about the destruction of the universe.

As the same with other Unspeakables in the series, #1067 demonstrates no real magical identity, which initially cast doubts on the existence of UE#023. However, it may have a similar hallucinatory effect as with other related Unspeakables when touched by skin. It is known that individuals with high magical or Legilimentic potential that touch #489 and #606 with bare skin experience a 'vision,' the contents of which are restricted at Level Seven Security access.

Furthermore, Unspeakable #1067 was found in the ████████, which according to both ELDER research and further interviewing of SB-129 indicate belonged to a clan of Parselmouths. This follows the wider trend, as notable Parselmouth individuals, clans, or dynasties have been reported near the locations of related objects. In conclusion, the discovery of #1067 reinforces ELDER's belief in the existence of UE#023 and their influence across Earth Yastur.


End file.
